Third Act Problems
by C. Mage
Summary: Ever wonder what happens behind the scenes at Marvel?
1. Third Act Problems: A Day In The Life

**Third Act Problems...**

**By C. Mage**

            Nobody truly understands how difficult it is to maintain a multiverse.

            If I didn't have a distinct fondness for creativity and certain tendency towards masochism, I probably would've bailed on this job before I would've tried to apply.  I mean, let's face it: trying to run a multiverse is bad enough with normals, but trying to run SUPERS is a trying business at best, exasperating and nerve-wracking at worst.

            Let me explain.

            I work as a "continuity manager" for the multiverse commanded by Stan "The Man" (as his subordinates usually call him when he's in a good mood) and I work behind the scenes keeping the many different alternate universes in check.  There are MILLIONS of us working in the same building, each one assigned to manage a group or groups of people.  Most are assigned to the general public of the worlds, introducing them and keeping them out of the hardlines where a remote few are responsible for maintaining the supers of the multiverse.  Heroes and villains alike have to be guided in their parts as the Writers come up with new ideas to keep the multiverse going; Stan says that ideas give the place energy or something like that.  Personally, I think that he just shows this place off to other people for entertainment purposes; it's the only reason I can account for his MASSIVE continuity budget.

            Writers have to continually correspond with others, so as not to step on anybody's toes.  It's important because Writers have a great deal of power in this business, and lives are literally won or lost on their choices.  It's not too bad for the losers in that respect; they are usually brought back to life or even granted the lofty title (as lofty as an ex-character can aspire to) of Creative Consultants.  After all, since they lived in the multiverse, they have the unique aspect of experiencing what we Writers set up.  As for the Writers, we've recently had to start a few regulations to keep things from becoming totally ridiculous.  (If you think the Secret Wars were damaging, think about several thousand Writers going ballistic within storylines. It isn't pretty.)  Some writers take their work a little too seriously, especially when...well, that brings me to this.

            Stan recently put a new directive into effect that he believes will make our interaction with the storylines more "Character-friendly."  Basically, this directive is an "open-door-policy" that allows the Characters in the multiverse to take time out from their own busy schedules from the Experience (what they actually go through) and the rehearsals for the Experiences.

            In other words, I keep getting visits.  Let me give you an account of an average day in my life as a Writer...

            Seven a.m. and the coffee is hot, black and strong.  I got Mister Fantastic to fix me up with a coffemaker that makes concentrated java.  Its great for those slow mornings, but I have to be careful.  I take too big a sip and the next thing I know, I'm unable to blink for an hour.  In payment, I got his wife to start wearing a more revealing combat uniform.  She didn't argue, but I did catch mutters every so often about "exploitation and sensationalism" from her memos.  Hey, she should pay more attention to her hubby so he won't have to come to me with marital problems.

            And, of course, the parade comes through.

            My computer is never without mail.  Between ideas from Higher Up and requests from Lower Than Me, I must get more mail coming through my computer than one of the Kree Postal Units.  I'm going through one particularly useless request when my first visitor shows up.

            "Hey, Doug!"

            I don't even turn around. "Hi, Wolvie.  Take a seat; I'll be with you in a moment.  Want some coffee?"

            "No thanks."  He sounds particularly anxious about something and I decide that my current penpal can wait a few minutes.  I swivel around in my seat and look at Logan.

            "What's on your mind?" I ask.

            "Well, it's about this Gen X thing..." he says in a concerned tone.  "Look, I don't want to be a pain..."

            "That'll be a first."

            "...but I'm worried about Jubilee."

            That throws me.  I knew Wolverine and Jubilee are kinda fond of each other, but Logan's coming across as a worried parent.  When Logan sounds like my mom, I know something's up.  "What do you mean?"

            "Well, she's hanging around with a buncha juves."

            "She's not exactly a five-year-old herself, you know.  She's an experienced mutant and a mature young woman, she's going to do just fine."

            "I know, I know...but I worry, okay?" Logan adds defensively.  As his voice raises, I have to remind myself that none of the Characters' powers can be used to harm or affect Writers.

            "Okay, okay, Wolvie, chill.  I'll check with her Writer and make sure you find out how she's doing.  You could always talk to the Gen X's Agent."

            "No THANKS."  Logan rises.  "Thanks."  The gratitude comes out awkward, but I smile.  Logan's not used to touchy-feely stuff, I guess.  As he leaves, I make a mental note to contact Jubilee's Writer before lunch.

            A little after eight.

            "Hello, sugah...you busy?"

            UH-oh.  I turn around and see Rogue leaning against the doorjamb, dressed in a rather tight-fitting miniskirt and silk blouse, white stockings and high heels completing the ensemble.  "Uh...hi, Rogue...what's on your mind?"

            She sashays in and my worry increases.  Ever since this open-door-policy, Rogue's been taking advantage of it to show up at my door almost every day.  For some reason, she's become somewhat...enamored of me.  She even called me "cute" on several occasions.  Under other conditions, I wouldn't mind a bit; superheroines tend to lean towards the supermodel when it comes to looks, and Rogue's southern drawl does have its effect upon me...but there are strict rules against Writers fraternizing with Characters. STRICT rules. UNBELIEVABLY strict rules.  Rogue, however, seems determined to live up to her name and she's been trying to get my, ahem...ATTENTION for some time. "Ah just wanted to come by and see how you was doing, that's all."

            "Well, Rogue, as much as I enjoy your company, I've got a massive amount of work I gotta get done."

            "You sure you wouldn't mind just letting me give you a backrub or something?" She's smiling mischievously.  I don't know whether to be glad or scared stiff. 

            "Well, don't Gambit and you have something going...?" I say quickly as I realize that her chair is closing the gap between it and me.

            "Well, ah'll tell ya, since ya asked."  Rogue crossed her legs.  "Remy and I have been going through a few rough times...you know how hard it is, not being able to touch him.  There was a time when I'd kill just to be able to kiss him without having to worry about absorbing his personality.  He's always flirting with some other gal, too."  She reached out and touched my bare arm and it dawns on me.

            Being a Writer, none of her powers can affect me...including her unrestricted power to absorb other people's powers and abilities!  I'm the only kind of entity able to touch her bare skin without fear.  "Rogue, that's just the way he is."

            "No, sugah, that's just the role he plays.  Roles we all play."  Her voice takes on a more hardened tone.  "Sometimes I get tired of going through all this, tired of being unable to show that I'm a woman to SOMEBODY!  Writers like you created me, made me what I was.  Do you know that when Remy isn't doin' the Experience, he never even notices me?  He just goes on with his life, doin' the casino thang...and I get to sit at home alone, eatin' ice cream and watchin' soaps!"  Her face is surprisingly close to mine.  "I want to LIVE, Doug.  I wanna take time off and go to Alabama or Mississippi, just to see what it looks like. Ah'm supposed to be a Southern Belle and I've never even BEEN to those places."

            "Come on, Rogue..."  She's wearing perfume, wonderful.  "You've been there before, you know."

            "Experience don't count, Doug. I've never gone there without bein' afraid for mah life.  You're a Writer, Doug, can't you do something?"  Her voice is pleading and I'm not the kind of guy who resists women who beg very well.

            "Rogue, remember the Rules...?"

            "FUCK the Rules, Doug, ah'm only human!"

            I pat her hand gently.  "Look, Rogue, calm down, you're getting hysterical."  She nods and takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly.  "Look, I'll take it up with the Boss.  I've got a meeting with him this afternoon.  I promise that I'll talk to him, but I can't promise results.  I can only ask.  I don't know how I'll justify it, but I'll try."   I gotta be outta my mind.

            "Okay, Doug...."  Rogue said, not sounding especially confident.  She stood up and walked towards the door.

            Just before she got there, I had to satisfy my curiosity.  "Out of all the Writers, what made you want to pick me?  I don't even Write for you."

            She turned around, her face a mask of anger.  "Well, ah'm SORRY ah had to burden you with..."

            "Now, wait, hold on...I didn't mean it like that.  I mean...look, Rogue, I like you.  I just wanted to know why, out of all the Writers in this genre, any of which would give their eyeteeth to...well, you know..."  I don't quite know how to finish my words and it must show on my face, because Rogue's face changed as soon as I say the words.

            Rogue looked mollified.  "You mean, why did I ask you for help?  Well, Doug...it's been a long time for me.  You have no idea how I envy people when I see them kiss and hold hands.  Is it selfish for me to want the same thing?"

            "No...no, I guess not."

            She smiled, wiping her cheeks.  "Besides, you're the only Writer I know who'd actually follow the rules despite what I was wearing or wanting.  You're a stand-up guy, Doug...and I like you, too."

            I chuckle a little.  "Careful, Rogue, your southern accent is slipping."

            Rogue laughs, and my day gets better.  "Well, ah cain't let that happen." She sprints over and gives me a quick kiss on the forehead and flies out the door before I can react.  I sit back and sigh.

            Some days are just SO confusing.

            Ten-thirty.

            I finish up my proposal for the next few months for X-Factor when I hear a rumbling and feel the earth shaking.  From the sound of it, it almost sounds like running.  Okay, either the Hulk or the Juggernaut.

            Benjamin Grimm opens the door with a crash. "WHO'S IN CHARGE HERE??!!" he bellows.

            Okay, I was close.  "Why?"

            "I WANNA TALK ABOUT NEXT WEEK'S ACT!!  I'M GETTING REAMED HERE!"  he rumbles and I have to put paperweights down to keep my notes from flying all over the place.

            "What's the problem?"

            "WHO THE BLOODY-BLUE BLAZES ARE YOU?!"  he asks and it occurs to me that his rage is blinding his reason.  I get up and stand in front of the Thing, then reach back and belt him one.  I'm okay when it comes to being in shape, he can lift eighty tons, but the result is no contest.

            He flies back a few feet, hitting the wall to his rear and landing on his butt.  The Thing rubs his jaw and looks up at me.  "YOU'RE a Writer?" he asks in a more reasonable tone of voice.  "I thought you were a copyboy or something.  I guess I stand corrected," he adds ruefully.

            "More like you'll SIT corrected."  I rub my knuckles; the Thing IS made of rock, after all.  "Now that you've got that out of your system, wanna tell me what the problem is?"

            "It's this script.  It's got me going on a rampage through New York, but according to what happens next, Titania shows up and beats the crap outta me."

            Uh-oh.  "Does your Writer have a reason for this?"

            "That's what I wanna know!  He doesn't answer my calls, but he puts me in the middle of this just before I'm supposed to go off with Sue and the rest to the Savage Land to get into this battle-royal.  That's not the problem, tho.  The problem is, I don't do rampages no more and I can't go doin' this before getting into a major dust-up."

            "Does seem kinda odd.  Let me check it out."  I call up the script while Ben paces restlessly around the office.  "According to this, it...hmmmm...THIS is interesting.  He's got some memos to the front office discussing photo ops.  VERY irregular."

            "How so?"  Ben asks, curious.

            "We have to schedule photos of you guys in action in advance to make sure of camera angles and all that.  We use the pictures for promotional items and merchandising, but this guy is going a little quick to get pictures of you smashing New York.  He's also scheduling other heroes and heroines of your strength level, or at least close to it, away from the action."

            "I don't get it."

            "Neither do I, but it sounds suspiciously like he's trying to get some exclusive photos of the action.  In any case, I'd better report this.  Tell Damage Coordination that I said to hold that scene until next week.  I'm calling Creative Control on this one.  If Damage has any problems, tell them to call me.  I'll take full responsibility."

            "Ok..." the Thing says dubiously.

            "Trust me.  Just go through your other Experience Scenes, but if it comes time for this one in particular and you haven't heard from me by then, take the day off until you do hear from me."

            "Alright.  Thanks."

            "No problem.  Say hi to the gang for me."

            "Will do."

            Lunch!!!

            As I munch my hot dog with mustard, I consider what Ben's Writer is trying.  It seems just too much like a hype job for my tastes, and he's getting some strange mail sends from outside the company.   I do some unauthorized digging and find out that the service contracts for those pictures are going to a small holding company.

            Interesting.

            I send my findings to Stan and hope he gets to take a look at them by the time our meeting starts.  I can't be sure, but if I'm right, Stan The Great And Terrible is going to have some serious words for Ben's Writer.  Serves him right for abusing his power the way he did.  I hear in some other multiverses, some Writers put their Characters into exploitative situations like pin-up lingerie clothing and other sensationalistic scripts.  The Characters can't do much about it if the Editors approve of those tactics, especially if those scripts cause more interest in the goings-on of the Characters.  Granted, let's not have a double-standard; I can imagine more than a few heroines I'd love to see in stretch-lace and satin, but there's a difference between...

            Ah, but that's some other multiverse and there's little I can do unless the Editors approve of a multiverse Cross-Over anyways.

            I'm about to consider an office-wide memo to address this little matter when I'm interrupted by the smell of rotting meat and death.

            Oh HELL.

            I turn around and there he is, in all his red, black and gory reality...CARNAGE.  I had been dreading this little meeting ever since the heroes that I'd been Writing had been requested to help against Carnage's latest breakout from Ravencroft prison.  Carnage always had a reputation for visiting any Writers involved with him, even indirectly, and chatting with them about how he'd like to see himself portrayed.  It looked like today was my turn.  "Hello, Kletus," I say levelly.  Dealing with Carnage was always a touchy situation.  Even though all Writers knew about their invulnerability versus the powers and abilities of Characters, Carnage always seemed to find a way to get under their skin.  I swore that one day, I would find the Writer responsible for creating Carnage and drop him down a very deep hole.

            "Hiya, Doug.  I gotta tell ya, I just LOOOOOVVE all this attention!"  He smiled, letting his teeth let me know just how insane he was.  Carnage, like a lot of Characters, was indistinguishable from his public persona.  Some Characters are different from the heroes or heroines they play in the multiverse, but others, like Carnage, never left their roles behind when they were off-duty.

            "Do you."  I put aside my computer work momentarily.  "Let me guess: you're here to discuss your upcoming role with me, right?"

            "Give the man a meatburger!"  His grin was REALLY getting on my nerves.  "Yeah, Dougie...I want to get a little edge on the competition, you might say."

            "Sorry, Carnage, I write for the Guys In The White Hats this time around."

            "I know!  That's why I'm here.  Think you could give me the dirt on what I'm coming up against?"

            "No, Carnage.  They're supposed to be a surprise, remember?  In the battle-royals, all hero intros are supposed to be a surprise and you're supposed to improvise from there.  Those are the Rules."

            "Screw the Rules!"  He came closer, his stink making me sorry I had that hot dog.  "I want to know, and YOU'RE going to tell me!"

            "Or what?  You'll eviscerate me?  You've been around long enough to know that you can't do that.  You can't even give me so much as a rug burn."  He WAS giving me a headache, though.  "I knew you were crazy, Kasady, but I didn't think you were stupid."

            Carnage roared and I jumped back as he came at me, all claws and teeth and rage.  He was about to attempt to carve me up like a Thanksgiving turkey when the auto defenses kicked in.  His claw passed harmlessly through me and he fell forward as he overcompensated.

            I don't know what sort of cosmic power Stan uses to enforce our protective measures, but now was not the time to ask.  I kicked upwards as he was locked into slow-motion, my shoe connecting with his stomach.  The air WHOOSHED out of him and he dropped just as the guards showed up to take him away.  I sat there and sweated bullets for a few minutes while the Security boys trussed him up with his own tendrils and sedated him.

            I finally found the energy to speak.  "WHAT TOOK YOU GUYS SO LONG??"

            "Sorry, heavy traffic by the vending machines."  The man in charge of the squad bowed.  "Are you alright?  He really couldn't have hurt you, you know."

            "YOU trying staying calm with a landshark going straight for your jugular vein!!" I sat down, grabbing a drink of coffee.  It was cold, but I didn't care at that point.  "Just get him out of here!"  I looked down at my hands.  They were shaking so bad, I could probably have threaded the eye of a sewing machine needle while the machine was running!

            As they left, I heard one remark to the other, "BOY, is he ever high-strung...!"  I swear to God, I almost wrote up a quick cream pie for each of them.

            Two...forty...three.

            Since Carnage's little visit, three more heroes came in, asking for love-interests.  Dr. Strange thanked me for making his new field uniform.  Almost got raped by Typhoid Mary...she didn't want anything, she just tried to rape me just because she thought she could.  Namor came in, congratulating me for coming up with a complex plotline involving himself and Namorita.  I think he privately enjoys getting a real challenge now and then.  Veterans usually do.

            Got to see Peter and M.J. before they took off.  They were retiring from the biz;  the actors playing them had made a real-life romance out of their roles and it looked like they would actually make it as a couple.  I wished them luck, told them they could use me for a reference if they needed one.

            Had two interviews for a couple of new guys; one heroine, one villain.  The heroine was a little hormone-daft, but she was professional enough to come across as a competent heroine.  Referred her to the Gen X Writers.  The villain was another vampire-type, albeit on the high-powered side.  Had to be honest with him...ever since the Midnight Sons, vampires were becoming passe, but I told him I'd try to get him a spot, maybe a cameo to test the waters.  Nice guy, for a villain.

            Three-thirty rolled around and I got my briefcase, heading for the lift to Stan's Office.  As I walked to the rear of the elevator, I looked down at the hundreds of floors deep beneath the planet's surface.  Each floor with its own staff of Writers, Set Directors, Metaphysic Researchers...on and on and on.  It's one helluva building...I've been working here for a few years and I've never been beyond more than six or seven floors up or down from my own floor.  Well, going to Stan's Office didn't count...

            I knocked three times on the door.  The Uni-Mind let me in before going back to its secretarial duties.  Leave it to Stan to get a gestalt mind to work out his duties.  I didn't hear it, but I know it let Stan know I was here.  Despite myself, I was a little nervous.  Stan had more power than all the gods in the multiverse pantheons put together.  After all, he created them.  I was a Writer, still human for all the power I was granted to create stories.

            Audiences with a Supreme Being were always nerve-wracking.

            I enter the foyer into the office, a showplace of pictures and portraits of some of the first heroes ever created; Stan's own work, Writ by his own hand.  A bit crude by normal standards, but there was no denying the quality of the talent behind it all.  

            I wasn't allowed to admire for long, though.  A mental summoning touched my mind.  _Mr. Jacobs, Stan will see you now._

_            Thanks, Uni-Mind._  I entered Stan's office quickly; Stan's not the type to be kept waiting by lesser beings.

            No matter how many times I enter this place, I'm filled with a notable sense of awe.  Despite Stan's lofty position and place of power, the only real difference between his office and the office of any other Writer was that his was much larger.  Oh yeah, and the piano in the corner.  His desk was, as always, covered with drawing, notes, sketches and outlines.  I walked up to the desk and a voice called from behind the pile, "Hold on, Doug, I'm almost done."   A few moments later, he stepped out from behind the desk. Stan was an old gentleman, appearing to be in his fifties or sixties.  Tall and lanky, he had more energy than people a third his age, and I was of the firm belief that he never slowed down for anything...not even sleep.  His faded jeans and button-down shirt were loose and comfortable, and he frequently wore leather loafers.  Right now, those loafers walked up to me and Stan shook my hand for the first time since I started working here.  I almost felt faint from surprise!

            "Uh...to what do I, er...?" I asked, my words coming out dazed.

            "I've been keeping an eye on your work, Doug, and I've been impressed by the way you have been handling yourself."  His mouth curled in his trademark smile and he walked to a stack of papers on a file cabinet.  "Not only have you excelled in the way you've written your stories, but the Characters have had nothing but good things to say about you ever since you took over your predecessor's position."

            "Oh....uh, how is Todd doing, by the way?" I asked, unable to come up with anything else coherent to talk about.            

            "Has his own work going with another multiverse.  We knew his position here was temporary, and he gave us proper notice."  Stan waved the matter away with his left hand.  "But that's not why you're here, Doug.  Ever since some of the new storylines have taken off, I've seen the need for more quality work to be done, and I want someone I can rely on for this added responsibility."

            Before I could answer, however, the office was bombed.

            It certainly felt like it.  The building shook as if a 8.7 earthquake's epicenter had blossomed right under our feet.  Paper flew everywhere, the desk was overturned, the walls began to twist and ripple like taffy in a pulling machine.  Both of us fell to the ground and I saw Stan buried under a pile of ink-scrawled paper.

            As if that wasn't staggering enough, Death showed up.

            She walked in through the door and pointed a long, bony finger at me.  "DOUGLAS JACOBS!!!!" she boomed, "YOUR TIME IS UP AND I HAVE COME TO CLAIM YOU."

            I wanted to ask what was going on, but she was getting closer to me and I suddenly realized that cognizant inquiries were luxuries I couldn't afford right now.  I bolted from the room, going past the comatose forms of seven people crammed in behind the receptionist's desk.  _Great, Death took out the Uni-Mind.  Why me, why now?  Did I desecrate a Shaolin temple or something and not know it?  I hit the elevator, punched the buttons, then realized how futile that would be.  The elevator never came when you needed it...it was like a Law of Nature, or something._

            Then an idea came to me.  I pulled out a pad of paper from my jacket pocket and a pen.  Normally, I only used the pad to write down notes and ideas when I was away from my desk, but now it had a different purpose.  I hastily scribbled, "The elevator at the main shaft came to Stan's floor almost instantly."

            A moment passed and nothing happened.  I was about to wonder where I would be buried when the writing disappeared and a chime sounded in my ear.  I looked up and the elevator doors were opening.

            "DOUGLAS JACOBS!"  Death bellowed, her voice sounding like icebergs colliding. 

            "Bye!"  I ducked into the elevator and hit the first button within reach.  The doors closed and the elevator dropped like a rock.  Even as the floors whipped by, I knew that it wasn't going to be long before Miss Mortis would show up...

            Wait a second.

            This isn't the REAL Death, just the personification of it in the Marvel Multiverse.  Even if its power could affect Stan (and most likely myself as well), it was still bound by certain procedures and plot devices.  I started to write again on the pad as the elevator reached my floor.  "Death was hampered by the psychic resonances of the differing floors as she descended to the floor where Douglas had just arrived."

            Ding!

            I bolt out of the elevator.  It was time to do some serious research.

            I get to my office and sweep past The Toad and Sauron, both tapping their respective feet as I came in.  "Where have you been??" squawked Sauron.

            "I've been busy and I still am!" I snapped back. "Death's on her way down and I don't know when she'll get here, so both of you bail, NOW!"

            At the mention of Death, both of them decided to wait until later to talk to me and they left quickly.  I couldn't blame them; I didn't know right now if there was going to BE a later.  I went to my computer and made some queries, wrote notes and reference points for faster information.  I didn't dare look behind me for fear of seeing her show up on my doorstep.

            According to the archives and current information, there was only one way to keep Death away.  The information had barely shown up on my screen when I felt the temperature of the room suddenly become much colder.

            She was here in the room!

            I grabbed my pen, started to write.  The sentence I wrote was powerful enough to do the job, but it didn't take effect.  I turned around and there she was.

            She had donned flesh underneath her robes, becoming a darkly attractive woman.  The tattered robes and sharp scythe, however, had not disappeared.  "DOUGLAS JACOBS!" Death said imperiously. "YOUR TIME HAS COME!!"

            "There's been a mistake made somewhere!" I said desperately.  Come on, where was it?

            "NO MISTAKE HAS BEEN MADE, HUMAN.  ACCEPT YOUR DEMISE, FOR IT IS INEVITABLE."  She raised her hand to touch my face. 

            "Alright...I'll...I'll admit that my death is inevitable..."

            "GOOD."  Her hands were only a few inches away from my face when I felt a strange tingling around my right hand.  My hand reached up rapidly and caught her wrist. 

            Death's eyes widened as she saw me wearing the Infinity Gauntlet on my right hand.  "...but not today," I finished, relieved.  The Infinity Gauntlet was the only item in the multiverse capable of holding off Death indefinitely...at least, I'd hoped it was. My research confirmed it for me just in time.  "And the mistake that WAS made was yours, Death.  Back off.  I've had a really ROUGH day."

            "I'll bet."

            The voice nearly shocked me into letting go of Death.  I turned towards the door. Stan was leaning against the doorjamb, a smile on his face.  "Alright, Death, he won fair and square.  Clean up the mess you made in my office, then take the day off."

            "Yes, sir."  Death disappeared.

            I looked at where Death was, then at Stan again.  "Wha HOPPEN???"

            "Sorry about all the confusion, Doug.  I had to know just what sort of person you would be under pressure...and having Death chase you was a suitable, albeit extreme situation to test you.  Doug, I need someone who's not going to let things go to hell just because the going gets rough.  There's too much at stake when it comes to the Experience."

            "But...but DEATH?" I exclaimed.

            Stan shrugged.  "Seemed like a good idea at the time.  In any case, congratulations on your promotion," he added with a mischievous smile.

            I didn't know whether to thank him or try to punch that smile off his face.  As much sense as he usually makes, he's still got a twisted sense of humor.  Thanks won out.  "Alright, Stan, you've made your point.  But using Death seems only good enough to test my survival instincts.  At the risk of playing Mephisto's Advocate, what if I didn't possess the ethics to undertake the job?"

            "That's where Rogue came in."

            Dawn breaks over Marblehead...namely, my own.  "YOU SON OF A BITCH!!! I'LL...." My fists clenched into hard balls of bone and muscle.  "I oughtta clean your clock, buster!  How could you even presume to ask Rogue to put me up to this, you bastard?!  This may be a job, but I don't get compensation enough to let you have Rogue play with my emotions!"

            "Actually, Douglas, before you deck me, I think you should know something.  I didn't ask Rogue to do this...she volunteered."

            THAT got my attention.  "Say WHAT?"

            "Apparently, Rogue's feelings for you are genuine...but she was originally too shy to approach you about it.  You as a Writer...well, that sort of power is a bit intimidating.  She found it very much so."

            I didn't know what to say, so I settled for sitting down.  Hard.  Talk about your mood swings!

            "In any case, I already know about your feelings for Rogue and her feelings for you.  Considering the state of affairs you went through, I'm going to approve you and her associating with each other beyond the professional level."

            "Uhm...but it's never been done!"  I was feeling a little nervous.  "What are the other Writers going to say?"

            "If they say anything, tell them to say it to me."  Stan turned and left the room, his voice calling out, "I'll have Assignments move you to your new office in the morning."

            Okay, it wasn't an AVERAGE morning.  The part about Death hunting me down was unusual, but everything else...well, it's a rough business, what can I say?  I AM happy to say that Rogue and I went to dinner and a movie last night.  I discovered that she was more into modest clothing than the stuff she usually wore to my office.  I guess Stan put her up to that.  Speaking of which, Stan took back the Gauntlet.  He said that it was too dangerous to use as a paperweight.

            Well, I go to my new job in the morning.  Apparently, I'm to be responsible for all the planning for the events happening in the New York area.

            Whew.

            Oh yeah, one other interesting development.  Apparently, I won't have to worry about superheroes or supervillains showing up at my door anymore; the open-door policy only applies to the Writers working under me.  However, Stan sent me a memo detailing a new plan for having Writers entering the Experience personally to gain new perspectives on the characters...as spectators, of course.  "In fact," he writes, "I'd like you to be one of the first.  What do you say?"

            I say, "Oh me God...."


	2. Third Act Problems: Cast Changes

**Third Act Problems: Cast Changes**

**By C. Mage**

                Hey, True Believers.  Welcome to my life as a Writer.  Hope you survive the trip.

                You're probably wondering to yourselves, "Why the bitter tone?  What's this guy got to complain about?  Last we saw, he was dating a beautiful woman, had a great career, and recently dodged Death Herself, right?"

                Ah, what a difference a few years makes.  Let me explain.

                First off, Rogue and I are done.  Finito.  End of Great Romance.  Why, you might ask?  Well, I ran into a slight problem.  Rogue loved me, but she was a career woman.  She wanted to take the character further, so when a new opportunity opened up with the Evolution Storyline, she couldn't say no.  Of course, she didn't want to stop our relationship...

                "Come on, Doug...please try to understand.  I really want to do this."

                "Marie, I..."  What was I going to tell her?  _No, I refuse to let you go on with your career because I want you to stay my girlfriend, because I was getting ready to propose to you?_  I felt like hell as it was.   "I don't want you to go."

                "It's not like you'll never see me again, Doug."  She moved up close to me and held me close.  "I'm not going anywhere."

                "Marie, they're going to change you into a teenager.  A girl who's barely fifteen.  You'll be almost half my age!"

                "Doug...I'm going to do it."  She stepped away from me.  "You could come with me."

                "Stan bent the rules enough for me just to be with you.  He gives me the old Fountain of Youth treatment and the other writers will be up in arms, howling about 'special privileges' and such.  He can't risk that and we both know it."  I looked at her.  "You're leaving me."

                "Come on, don't say it like that.  After all, we had a few good years.  We had fun, we loved each other...and it was something I'm always going to remember.  Please understand."

                "Marie...love isn't supposed to end because your job description changed."

                "Doug...don't make this harder than it has to be, alright?"  She stopped, then began to shimmer.  Damn them, they didn't even want to wait for the Transfer.  I watched as Marie turned into a teenage version of herself.  I watched until it was complete.  She was still beautiful.

                Goddammit.

                "Doug?" she said in that voice I loved, those lips I'd kissed and stroked and...

                I shook my head.  This was sick.  "Go, Rogue.  We're done here."

                "Are you going to be alright?"

                I couldn't even look at her.  "Just go away.  Please..."  I didn't hear her leave; I just looked up a few minutes later and she was gone.  Just like that.  Three years.  I'd bucked the system, endured the crass comments of my peers, and she left me for a job.  Of course, her other projects couldn't be tampered with, so they got her understudy to take over her adult roles.  Didn't care for me one way or the other.  Looked _exactly_ like her.

                I was in Hell and I was going to be staying there for a while.

                And of course, my co-workers.  How could I forget them and their own mixed reactions?  I don't know what was worse, the small percentage telling me that they'd secretly hoped that we would've made it as a couple, or the rest who were filled with I-told-you-so's.  "Never get involved with a Character," they said, "make things easy on yourself."

                "Remember when I said, 'This was the one'?"

                "Yes," they all said condescendingly.

                "Remember when I said, 'We will make this work somehow'?"

                "Sure," many said, smiling.

                "Remember when I said, 'Gee, doesn't that sucking chest wound hurt?'?"

                Blank looks.  "No," they'd say.

                It was at that point that I'd invariably tell them that we should keep it that way and not make any more remarks about Rogue, okay?

                They understood and let me be.  My co-workers can be so understanding sometimes.

                Work for the next few weeks went pretty much the same way.  Stan was generous enough to keep my workload light, had me working on Continuity Control Duty.  Work was pretty easy in that area because many were working on different phases, coming up with new origins, new timelines.  Then the Ultimate storylines came out and things went promptly to Hades in a dump truck.  New directives were coming down from on high.  Out work needed to be edgier, they said.  We got lazy coming up with the same old thing, and "suggestions" came down the pipe.  I wasn't Writing anymore, but I saw the results.  The Ultimate X-Men starting throwing the rules away.  Jean Grey was forced to kill a man in cold blood.  Wolverine apparently killed Magneto, damn near tried, though I think they've got plans for the body.

                Then....there was the Black Cat.

                Picture this.

                It's 9 pm on a Thursday night.  I'm getting off work and heading for my aircar.  I pop the door and climb into the diver's side.  I start it up and head across the complex, over different sites, different sets, city locales.  In fact, I almost didn't notice the whimpering at all until I stopped at a zone border.

                The world I live on is literally Stan's, the Marvel universe, or Multiverse, as the case may be.  Now, instead of a normal world, think of it is reverse, a huge, planet-sized sphere with the landscape on the inner surface.  A center sun-like ball or heat and light.  I think it's called a Dyson sphere.  In any case, each sphere is divided up into quadrants, and each quadrant is divided into zones.  Outside the sphere, nothingness, void....except for the other spheres out there.  Other Multiverses that sometimes connect.  The DC Sphere practically orbits us, we so much contact with them for crossovers.

                In any case...where was I?  Oh yeah, the noise.  I turned around and looked into the back seat, then on the floor.  I blinked as I saw the Black Cat, flattened to the floor, still in uniform, a big No-No outside the Experience.  "What the...Felicia, what are you...?!"

                That's when she looked at me.  Her eyes were so red, it looked like she'd been crying for a week.  She whimpered, "Please don't make me go back there!!"

                "Look....look....okay."  Dammit.  What now?  I put the car into forward and headed for home.  Something MAJOR had happened.  I didn't ask and simply took her back to my place.  The aircar stopped outside my loft and I reached back to her to help her in when she jerked away from me.  "Please....just don't...don't touch me..."

                I nodded, surprised and mystified.  What was wrong with her?  She was acting like she'd just been...

                No.  Oh dear GOD NO.  They DIDN'T.  They couldn't have!  I watched as she walked into my apartment, falling to her knees and pulling herself to the couch, crawling up on it and curling into a fetal position, shuddering.   I went to my terminal and connected to the Continuity Mainframe, pulling up the current Black Cat projects.  Let's see...crossover with Spider-Man...hunting some drug-dealer named Mr. Brownstone...end of the third issue...

                I stopped, sitting there in shock as I saw the section describing her drugging and rape by Mr. Brownstone.  How...how could they approve something like this?  Somebody set the scene to fade-to-black, but someone had ordered the event to happen in the background in order to make her subsequent reactions as real as possible.  Even though there was no physical damage or trauma, Felicia had gone through the whole Experience mentally.

                Drugged and raped...oh, somebody was going to get NAILED for this!

                I turned to Felicia, then stood up, walking over to her.  "Felicia?"

                "Doug...?"  I felt my heart wrung into a knot by the sound of that word alone.  "I...I need to..."

                "What?" I asked gently.

                "...get cleaned up..."

                "Shower's over in the bathroom over there."

                She practically ran inside, and the shower started running a few moments later.  I didn't need a Ph.D. In Psychology to realize what she was likely doing.  I looked at the phone, then my brain kicked in.  Who was I going to call?  The moment anyone else found out what was going on, that I had a Character in my apartment, still in costume, off Company grounds.  I might as well spit on Stan Lee and hand in my resignation, then walk into traffic.  I'd have a happier ending.

                Then I looked at the door of the bathroom, heard her moaning, crying…and suddenly, I really didn't think she needed an audience right now.  I put some clothes by the door and walked over to the couch, sitting down.  _Please, God, don't let her slit her wrists or do anything crazy right now._  I wasn't sure what else to do, so I sat there and waited.  As I did, I began to wonder at the new turns the Company was taking.  Was Stan going senile?  Was all the Power he has to deal with gone straight to his gray-haired cranium?  Or was something going on behind the scenes?

                Whatever it was…things were getting out of hand.

                I don't know when I dozed off, but one second I was sitting on the couch, just laying my head back, and the next thing I knew, there was someone walking across my floor.  I looked up to make sure the TM Police hadn't beat down my door, saw Felicia sitting on a chair, the good one I use to watch TV on those rare occasions when I'm not working.  I sat up and she looked at me, guilt plastered on her face like five coats of paint.  "Doug?"

                "That's the name on my office door."  I sighed.  "I know what happened."

                "Oh my God…it's going to go to print in a few days.  Every single person in the Spheres will know!"

                "Felicia, it was part of the Experience.  You know there's no physical evidence."

                "Dammit, Doug, I felt everything!!  Those Writers made me go through that, having the cocaine teleported into my bloodstream, being used…Jesus Christ, they Wrote Brownstone into using me for three hours!!  And all because they wanted me to really play up the pain in the next Issue!!"  She looked like she'd been crying all night, but she somehow found the tears to start crying anew.

                "I'm sorry..."

                "Did _you_ do it??"  She turned to glare at me, and I began to wonder if being a Continuity Director afforded me the same protection as a Writer.

                "No!!  No, I didn't!"

                "Then what the FUCK are you sorry for?!" Felicia threw the glass she was holding at the wall, smashing it into a million shards of glass.  I probably jerked back; things being broken always provokes a reaction from me, call me crazy.  I just watch her, nothing to say.  What do you say to something like that?

                She got up and I was worried that she was going to belt me or something, but all she did walk away.  She wore the jeans and shirt I'd left for her.  She had to cinch the waist with my belt a bit, but let's face it, I don't have her waist and never will.  She walked to the dining room table and sat down, trying to move as far away from me as she could without actually leaving the apartment.

                "Look...maybe we can get a memory block for you.  Since there's no physical damage..."

                "Listen, _Einstein,_ there's no way that's going to happen.  Even if I managed to get through the Experience part of the aftermath, which I DON'T plan on doing, the Story would be public domain for anyone who'd want to read it.  And I think I'd get a few comments from people who would ask me why I did it, and wonder that maybe, just MAYBE, I would actually _enjoy_ that kind of treatment!!  Don't you get it??  I'm _ruined!"_  Her voice began to rise to a shriek, a manic tone in her voice and every word sounding more spiteful than the last.  "There isn't a guy on the Sphere who'd see me as anything else but damaged goods."

                I looked at her for a long time.  "I know one guy who wouldn't."

                Felicia looked at me, then seemed to realize where she was.  Her face lost its hardened hatred and she laid her head on the table.  "Oh, fuck, I'm in the home of a romantic.  Nice try, Doug, but there's nothing you can do."

                I was starting to get really tired of hearing people tell me that.  Without a word, I stood up and walked out of the apartment.  I locked the door behind me and sat down in the aircar, piloting back towards the office.

                I had some prime nuts to crack.

                The guard let me in, knowing me pretty well by now, assured in the fact that I'd never do anything like what I was about to do.  I smiled at him, clocked in, then headed for my office.  As I walked into my cubicle, I left the lights off, but turned the computer on and logged into the network.  As I waited for it to boot, I took out a small box and plugged it into the USB port, then waited.  As the computer booted, it scanned for open drives and found one, autoplaying the contents.

                I smiled.  Experience hacking couldn't affect the main network, and no powers of electronic control could affect any computers not part of the setting.  However, actual stolen source code from the main network could be altered, with a little guidance from the right people.  It was this source code that was about to give me access to the Tapestry, the underlying network where all the Storylines were stored.  Within the space of a couple of minutes, I had forged access and gotten into the Tapestry.  I started the countdown.  Five minutes.  Any longer, and the network would be back with the confirmation protocols and I'd be busted.  Two seconds later, total lockdown.

And then I was going to spend a long time in a room without a view.

I ran through the search routines, activated a couple of spurious ID programs to disguise my efforts, then began a full rundown on the recent Black Cat issues.  Except for a couple of guest appearances and some convention work, she'd been out of the public eye, staying in the Experience and playing the part of the wealthy Felicia Hardy.  Fun and games.

Four minutes, eight seconds.

I found the file.  A real piece of work.  Footnotes, outlines, the whole nine yards.  Even…oh my God.  They made a _video._  They videoed her rape…

Two minutes, twelve seconds.

I pulled out a disk and slotted it into the drive, beginning the copying process.  As I did so, I dropped a worm into the file folder, telling it to consume every file, destroy them utterly.  Well, not utterly.  I let the worm allow certain letters and phrases to exist.  I smiled.  Wouldn't they get a surprise when they opened the file in the morning?

One minute, thirty seconds.

I spun around as I heard something.  A noise, a footstep, something.  I know I heard it!  I stood up, looking around.  No one.  I turned back to the screen.  Why was the download taking so long?  It was barely half done!

Fifty seconds.

Come on…come _on…_  Three quarters done.  I don't get it all and it'll pause, the infection will erase both copies, the full and the incomplete.  Dammit, I cut it too close!

Twenty-three seconds.

The progress bar jumped and hope bloomed.  There was still a chance…just a few more seconds…

Only…nine…eight…seven…six…five…

The computer bleeped at me.

Four.

I reached for the eject button.

Three.

I started the logout…but the disk wouldn't eject!

Two.

I pulled the plug!

It stuck!

ONE!

I pulled HARD, ripping the cord and the wires parted from the plug, pulling the drive free with an arc of electricity, and the computer began displaying a warning sign that the Tapestry was suffering internal errors.  I looked at the damaged plug, then detached it.  It wouldn't come free until I took a screwdriver to it.  I scanned the offices again.  Empty.

Almost empty.

I walked out of the offices and stuffed the drive into my inner jacket pocket, then went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face.  I straightened myself, tried my best to look calm and collected.  That's it.  Don't think about your job, swirling away down the crapper.  Don't think about the prison time.

Don't think about what else they can do to you.

As I walked out, I began to wonder.  What I wondered didn't feel good.  Whoever set this up made sure the cameras were in just the right place to film everything.  And the locks on the files were a lot stronger than I expected.  Why go to all that trouble?

Unless…

I managed to hold my even pace until I got outside and got into my car, then looked at the disk.  I knew what I had on here and why.  Now all I needed to do was go someplace nice and quiet…where I could puke.

It didn't take long to get the call.

"Hello?"  I asked goodnaturedly the next morning.

"Yeah.  You him?"

"Him?  Him who??"

The voice at the other end was NOT happy.  "What kind of joke is this?"  I heard another pair of voices in the background.  One was nervous.  The other gave clipped, ready responses, marking him as the leader.

"Who is this?" I asked, still playing Mr. Wrong Number Receiver.

"Never mind who this is.  Who are you?"

"Easy, pal…you don't sound happy.  One might've thought you had a black cat cross your path."

Unhappy stopped talking.  

"Good.  You're the right wrong number."

"Who are you?"

"What's the matter, pal?  You don't know me?"

"No."

"Good.  Let's keep it that way.  I have something you want.  You have something I want."  I heard the phone change hands.

"Do you have any idea what you have?" inquired Leader.

"I have, on vidfile, the calculated rape of a superheroine.  Conspiracy charges, ruined reputation, and needless to say, planning to make your own little underground video to sell across the Spheres' Underground?  For shame."

"What do you want?"

"Easy.  Money.  At my level, the modern conveniences aren't that great on the Status 8 level.  I'm looking for a little extra cheese on my cracker."

"How much?"

"Ten million credits."

"Are you insane?  We don't have that kind of money."  Leader sounded hostile, but not frantic.

"You do have access to your expense accounts…Barry."

Silence again.

"Yeah, I found your work quite well done, thorough.  Work on the triple-x wasn't bad, either.  You should try to head to one of the outer Spheres where stuff like this might be considered legal.  But one thing about thorough people: they love to put their autographs on their work, even in subtle ways.  Now, here's the deal.  Ten million, twenty-four hours.  I call in one day, give you an account number to transfer the money to and you get your disk back."

"How do we know you won't keep a copy for yourself?"

"You think I want to hang on to this, give a copy to my family members at Christmas?  I want to get rid of this and you provide me with a convenient way to do it, not to mention a profitable way.  Oh, I'm sure you're trying to trace this.  Have fun.  The number connects to a pirate commlink.  I know your number now, though.  I'll be more than happy to call you in twenty-four to get my money.  I know you can get it by then.  Have it ready, or your superiors, their superiors and Stan will be getting copies of the file…including the credits.  Oh, and…"  I smiled, preparing to complete a life's work, "…have a Nice Day."  I hung up the phone and tossed it out the aircar window, then drove back towards home.  

As I drove, though, I started to worry.  Ever since Felicia moved in, all she did was walk around the house like she was a star in one of the Horror Sphere's Issues, this vacant stare on her face.  I couldn't even begin to understand what she was going through.  Not only was it frustrating watching her with no clue on what to do to help her, I was beginning to think that she was going to go crazy or something.

As the aircar autopiloted up to my apartment, I looked up to see Felicia standing at the aircar dock.  Well, that was a relief.  I squinted in the noon sun.  Hey, wasn't she wearing her Black Cat costume?  That was kinda strange considering…

Then she jumped.

Ever had one of those moments where the eyeballs spot something so out there, so shocking, the signal from the retinas have to bulldoze its way through the optic nerves into the brain so you don't just stand there like an idiot with drool on your chin as what you're seeing just passes you by?  Welcome to my minute.

                All I saw was her in freefall.  My hands moved, switching off the autopilot, something you should never do this close to a building, slid back the roof, something you should _never_ do, move up and then stand up and open my arms, something you should _absolutely never_ do when trying to control an aircar with the aforementioned autopilot shut off.  I just saw her above me, felt her hit me, hurling me back to the seat.  My head bonked something and I reached down for the autopilot button.

                I missed.

                I couldn't focus; the impact must've rattled my senses and I hit the panel with the palm, hoping the finger would find the right button quickly...or else, street pizza.

                I saw the floors spin upwards as I slapped the panel, finally feeling the aircar slow suddenly, giving me lift once again.  My back hurt like a sonuvabitch, and the fact that Felicia was beating on my chest didn't help.

                "You bastard!  How could you do that to me?!"  She was screaming and crying and ponding my chest, and though she didn't have her superhuman strength, it still _hurt._

                "I only saved your life, dammit.  Now could you get off my chest?  I think I landed on the emergency brake handle...ow."

                Felicia got off, giving me dirty looks as we got back to the apartment, cutting off any more attempts to go skydiving minus the parachute.  I pulled myself out and she stomped to a couch, throwing herself into it and glaring at me.

                "I know I'm really going to be sorry I asked, but _what the Hell were you thinking???  _Are you trying to...?"

                It is at these times that I become aware of how thick I can truly be.  I walked over to her and sat down next to her on the couch.  "Felicia...I'm sorry."

                "You should be!  I am not going to live my life with this hanging over my head!"

                "Maybe you won't have to."

                "No way.  Simple memory removal won't work.  That tape will be out there and everyone who sees it is going to look at me differently, and they'll get the impression that I'm some sort of slut!!  Forget it!"  She wiped her eyes and looked at me fiercely.

                "That tape is not going to be out there."

                "How can you be _sure?_  As soon as the issue gets released..."

                I held up the disk.  "Not without this."

                "What is that?"  She sniffed, sounding nasal.

                "The only existing copy of that issue."

                Felicia looked at me, then she launched herself at me.  I saw that move coming a mile away and dodged, moving back.  "Doug, dammit, give me that right now!"

                "So you can destroy it?  Not a chance, not yet."  I moved to the other side of the dining table, putting it between her and me.

                "You want to use it?  You sick asshole!"  She turned to the side and tried to come around, but I sidestepped along with her.

                "Felicia, haven't you ever heard of a little thing they call 'evidence'?"

                That stopped her.  "If that gets released as evidence, I'll still be ruined.  Evidence in criminal trials get used as public record; Writers needing material for court scenes use them all the time."

                "Look....you're going to have to trust me."

                "And why the hell should I?"

                "Because I'm the only chance you've got to get your life and sanity back again."

                Felicia stared at me, then took a deep breath.  "How?"

                I smiled warmly at her.  "I have a plan."

                I HATE the Shipping Docks.

                For one thing, it's spooky at night.  This I know from bitter experience from working as a Shipping Security Guard before I was discovered for my Talents in writing.  It wasn't long, but six months felt eternal.  Especially since I worked the night shift.  Ten PM to six AM, every night except Mondays and Fridays.  Loneliest job I ever worked.

                But it did have its perks, and one of them was time to think.  I hoped I'd thought right this time as I checked my watch.  10:15 PM.    I looked around for the billionth time.  I'd had the site picked out as a great place to make the exchange, and called the Terrible Trio only after I'd gotten here, to make sure I didn't arrive and have an ambush waiting for me.  I gave them a half-hour to bring themselves and the money here, but I still felt nervous as a cat in a room full of 500-lb. mice.  I was starting to wonder if I hadn't made a HUGE mistake in tactics when I saw some lights in the sky.  Great.  They brought a couple of friends to the party. 

                I took a deep breath as they landed, two more when they got out of the aircars, nine of them in all.  The three ringleaders walked out in front of the others.  "I don't recall issuing more than three invitations to this little get-together," I remarked, stalling for time.

                "Tough.  I'm not about to hand over this kind of cheese without some insurance."  

                "And here I thought it was because that much cheese drew rats."  I tried to sound casual.  "Let me see the money."

                "First, how do we know you didn't call the Authorities?"  Barry inquired.

                "Come on, pal.  Possession is nine-tenths of the Law.  Guess what they'd do to me if I had a file showing the actual rape of a superheroine in my possession?  I'd get out of Confinement only a few months sooner than you.  Now show me the money."

                "Show me the goods."

                I pointed to a box off to the side, upon which sat a laptop with a folder open, the contents of which were displayed.  "Here's the deal.  You go over and verify the contents while I check out the money.  If the money's good, I give you the password to burn the information to a disk, then erase the hard drive and the website with the duplicate information stored therein.  If I suspect there's anything shady, or you try to dump the laptop into the river, the website will email the link to the info to every Sphere Controller.  You'll be marked men for the rest of your lives...all three seconds of it."

                Barry nodded, sending one of his men to check the information.  As his partner did so, Barry looked at me.  "This better not be a shine-job."

                "Just one thing puzzles me.  Why?"

                "Why did I rape a superheroine in the Experience?"  Barry smiled.  "That money you see there?  Chickenfeed.  What did the Green goblin say once?  'If there's one thing people like to see more than to see a hero succeed, it's to see a hero fall.'  The Black Cat made a perfect patsy, and she had all the earmarks of a perfect fantasy.  Beautiful, rich, powerful, seductive...made into a total slut, addicted to drugs.  A film like that would fetch ten times that much on the Sphere Underground, a hundred times.  Who CARES if it ruins the life of one Actress?  We can always get another."  Barry turned to the man who went to verify the contents.  "Well?  Is it intact?"

                "So far."  He opened one file and the sounds of Brownstone's voice reached their ears.  'You know, there are many that claim that being on coke is better than sex.  You'll have to tell me how accurate that is.'

                "For crying out loud, shut it off.    I barely made it this far on that file before needing to puke."

                Barry smiled.  "Shut it off, Mike, we get the gist.  Give him the money."

                I waited, taking the briefcase and opening it.  All the money was there.

                "Barry?  A countdown just started on this thing!"

                Barry turned back to me.  "The passcode."

                "The passcode is: Bad Luck."  I picked up the case.  

                Barry nodded, turning to Mike, who entered the passcode.  He smiled and turned back to Barry.  "We got it!"

                Barry smiled as he looked at me.  "Boys?  Kill him!"

                Gee, _that_ didn't come as a shock.  I saw the guys go for their guns, but I didn't see any real pros there. No cool drawing of guns, but what they lacked in experience, they made up for in enthusiasm.  I ran behind a crate.  Where the hell was the frickin' cavalry?!

                Then I felt someone beside me and I spun around, my heart in my throat.  I was dead.  I was dead.  I was SO dead.

                "Doug, get your butt up!"

                It was Felicia, in her Black Cat guise.  I was going to _kill_ her!!  "What the hell are you doing here??"

                "Saving your hide from the look of it!"

                "This isn't the Experience!  You don't have any protection here!  You could..."  I looked up at her, suddenly wondering if she still wanted to die.

                She smiled at me, kissing me on the nose.  "Not today.  Get ready to run on three!"

                I looked up and blinked.  One of them was pulling out a LAW rocket from the trunk of the rear car.  What did this guy think this was, a Steven Seagal movie??  "THREE!!" I yelled and dragged Black Cat from behind the crate, running for the water.  A thunderclap went off behind me and a hot hand lifted us into the air.  I lost my grip on Felicia, hit the water, still felt heat and pain, loud voices moving through the ringing in my ears.

                "THIS IS THE AUTHORITIES.  YOU ARE ALL UNDER ARREST.  STAY WHERE YOU ARE."

                Great.  What took them so damn long?  What were they waiting for, and engraved invit...

                FELICIA!!

                I looked around, scanning the surface of the water.  It was dark, but the water was sporadically illuminated by the hovercars blanketing the area with sound and light.  I didn't see her.  I searched the water's surface, then swam under water, the powerful lights penetrating the murky gloom.  I swam down, seeing a shadow.  Come on, please God, cut me a break, tell me it's her!

                My lungs began to burn.  I had no idea where I was going.  Just when I thought my number was up, I felt a hand on my shoulder...

                "You're a moron, you know that?"  That from the arresting officer.

                "Tell me something I don't know."  That was me, freezing on the dock with a wool blanket around my body.  "Besides, you were the guys who got here late."

                "What are you complaining about?  You're still alive."

                "Technically."  I turned to Felicia, lying on a gurney, a mask over her nose and mouth, being loaded into an ambulance.  "Is she going to be okay?"

                "The medics say she'll be alright."  

                I turned as Barry and Co. came into view.  He looked at me as they brought over the computer that held the files.  "I'll be waiting for you when you get to jail, asshole."

                "Sorry, you'll have to go without me.  I'm going home."

                "Last time I checked, owning a rape flick of a superheroine was a crime."  Barry chortled.

                I asked the officer to bring the computer over and I pulled up the file.  "You mean this one, the one you recorded?"

                "Yeah. I recorded that file, so I know that you're screwed."

                I smiled at him and played the file.  It began, but after Brownstone's last line, he pulled out the knife, walked towards her, then the screen went to static, then froze.  A window came up, displayin the words, "FILE CORRUPTED."  "Funny thing about that.  I tried to play the file to see what it was, but something must've happened while I was copying it.  The file is totally shot, so, technically, I don't possess it.  Good thing you confessed to me _twice_ what you did."  I pulled off the wire and the recorder from my chest.  "Otherwise, you just might've walked."

                Barry's face changed and I smiled.  It's that dawning look of realization that I live for, and Barry didn't disappoint, trying to escape the bonds and the men dragging him away.  The officer looked at me.  "That file wasn't corrupted, was it?"

                "Are you charging me with anything?"

                The officer sighed.  "You're free to go."

                "One more thing...Black Cat wants an NR mindwipe done at the hospital.  I don't think she wants to put that in her memoirs, do you?"

                "You realize, of course, that it's going to wipe everything for the last couple of days as well, right?"

                I sighed.  I liked Felicia, but she didn't know me from Adam before all this happened and won't remember anything I did to help her...which was fine with me.  Really.  Absolutely.  Of course.  "Yeah, well....she is going to have enough hassles because I know they're still going to run that part of her storyline.  Writers have to let things go."  _LIAR,_ I told myself, but I didn't let it show.

                He nodded to me.  "Go home and get some sleep.  I'll inform your supervisor what happened."

                "Good.  Tell him I'm not coming in for a couple of days.  I've been landed on, stressed out and blown up.  I'm taking my sick days, dammit."

                He chuckled.  I almost felt the need to laugh, if my back wasn't still on fire.

                It was almost two weeks before I saw her again.  I was back in my office, the swelling had gone down and I was getting coffee.  Work was back to normal, except for all the pictures of myself I was getting through e-mail with my head stuck on various action stars' bodies.  Kind of annoying, actually.

                She knocked on my cubicle frame and I turned around.  "Oh...hi, Felicia.  What can I do for you?"

                "Well...I wanted to thank you for everything you did for me."

                Great.  Someone blabbed the details to her.  Hope they didn't bring up the rape as well.  "I didn't do much, just what had to be done.  Nearly wet myself the whole time, so don't start thinking I'm some sort of hero or anything.  People will get the wrong idea."

"I think they already do."  She walked in and sat down.  Thank God she wasn't wearing her costume, don't know if I'd be able to handle that.

"So….how did it go at the hospital?"

"Fine…got patched up, and got the NRMW treatment.  I guess I must've had a good reason for asking for that, considering what I have to do for the miniseries."  She shrugged.  "Do you know what it was all about?  I mean, all the details?"

"I don't remember."

She smiled softly, standing up.  "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."  I turned back to my work, wanting her to mention it, to think about it, to remember me fondly…

"By the way, I heard about what happened between you and Rogue."

…and thank you, Reality, you bastard.

"I want you to know that there's a lot of people who are really sorry it happened.  You know, Doug, there's a few people I know who were kind of jealous when you and Rogue were together."

"Yeah, right."

"I'm serious."

I turned around to look back at her.  "Well, now they all know what happens when somebody breaks the Rules, don't they?"  I still stung over what happened and I turned away so she couldn't see how hurt I was.  So this is how the Good Guys felt.  God, somebody would have to be crazy to take the job…

"Sometimes, Doug….rules are made to be broken."

There was something in that voice, something I didn't expect.  I turned around to ask her what she was talking about, but she was gone.  Man, I didn't think women in high heels could move that fast or that silently.

Well, back to biz as usual.  More fires to put out, more storylines to check.  As I got up to pick up some forms for the Legal Department, I found myself hoping to see Felicia again.  Yeah, Doug, good idea, fall for some other Character in the Experience.

Trust me, nothing short of an Act of God was going to convince me to pursue that again.

**EPILOGUE**

The phone rang and a hand picked it up.  The voice on the other end spoke.  "Operation Jinx is a no-show.  Find the Writer.  Have him silenced."  The hand hung up the phone.

In the moonlight, razor-sharp teeth shone in pleasure.


	3. Third Act Problems: Collapse

**Third Act Problems:  Collapse**

**By C. Mage******

Hi.  Me again.  Doug Connors.  Remember me, the Writer with the albatross around his neck?

Well, the fun just continues.  

The aftermath from what happened with the Black Cat pursued me for the next few weeks.  I know what you're thinking, every hero came forward to congratulate me, right?  Wrong.  Since the incident had to be forgotten, no one knew that I helped Felicia.  But details about the incident leaked out and a few Characters requested that I not get involved with any of their Storylines.  Said something about me getting personally involved with my work, made them feel uncomfortable.  Not much I can do about it…besides, it would make the paper chase on my desk easier to manage.

Problem was, it wasn't my workload that was getting me down…it was the work.

Reports were crossing my desk I found unsettling.  A new project approved by Stan himself, called Stripperella.  I took a look at some of the sketches for a lot of the Bad Guys.  Dr. Cesarian…Cheapo…Pushy Galore???  Catch-phrases like, "It's time to go down on crime"??  Having men hold her breasts to tell if they're lying?  If Stan was trying to parody himself, he's really working hard to make the concept as sleazy as possible.  Erotica Jones…I hope nothing from that Storyline crosses my desk.  Then, of course, more recently, I picked up a snippet of a plotline where Cain Marko is in legal trouble and Jen Walters, a.k.a. the She-Hulk, apparently gets into his briefs.  And I don't mean his legal briefs.

Comics used to be standards for entertainment and morality.  People look up to these superheroes as ideals, examples of how much better they can be.  Now, sex and violence are starting to seep in.  Yeah, yeah, I know, these are heroes, not saints…but impressionable people look at these things and they don't see consenting adults.  All they see are people saying it's okay to do things the readers and viewers might not be mature enough to handle.  Call me old-fashioned.  Go ahead.  But if things keep going the way they are, comicbooks are going to end up turning into softcore porn.

On top of that, there was the small matter of my car.

I walked out to my car after a three-hour meeting the day before yesterday.  It was a standard hovercar, came with the apartment, bubble-card player, six-speaker sound system, snackmaker, nothing special.  I added in a couple of extra options since my little piece of adventure two weeks ago, including an anti-theft system and a remote ignition system, just to be safe and to get the turbines warmed up before I start driving.

I look at the holo-readout on my keychain.  The display showed that no one had even attempted to get into the car.  I smiled, raised the fob and started the ignition.

I woke up in a ditch thirty yards away and a pair of men in red uniforms told me that I was going to be all right.  Of course, then they gave me medication for the pain and then everything kind of blurred in my head and then I was out again.  When I woke up, I was looking at white walls, a white ceiling and people dressed in pastel blue.  Then the pain set in.  It was all over my body.  The doctor must've heard my yells and came in to give me something else that dulled the pain, then started filling in the blanks.  The battery packs had somehow detonated, the fumes from the hydrochloric acid exploding, something that shouldn't have happened.  The blast blew the vehicle to pieces, one of those pieces knocking me off my feet, breaking a few bones and causing mild acid burns on the front of my body.

"Doc…got a mirror?"

"Yes, but I don't recommend it.  Your face has been seriously burned and it's been bandaged.  You won't see much but gauze."

I sighed.  "How long am I going to be out?"

"A few weeks, at the very least."

"Lovely.  Look, is there a phone here?  I gotta tell my work that I'll be out of it for a while."

"Certainly.  Phone's to your right."

I picked up the phone, then waited.  "Mind if I have some privacy?"

The doctor nodded and left politely.  I picked up the phone and, for one brief moment of lunacy, I thought about calling my office to tell them I'd be out for a few days.  Then my brain kicked in.  _What are you, deranged??  You do that and the ones who turned your car into a "major assembly required" project will likely come to visit you..._after_ visiting hours.  If that happens, your next medical procedure will be an autopsy._  And as much as I hated to admit it, the paranoid loudmouth had a valid point.  I considered for a few moments, then smiled.

            For the first time since my car went nuclear, I actually had a plan.

            I picked up my cellphone and called up my supervisor with a short cock-and-bull story about how I needed to get out of town, got some bad news from a friend of mine, sounding nice and scared for whoever was tapping my line.  Before I could be triangulated, I cut off the call and pulled the battery.  Hopefully that would keep me from getting traced.  Next, I pulled out my PDA from the table next to the bed and opened it up, then tapped into the medical database.  It took longer than I thought, but I was successful...now I was John Doe 57312, recovering from acid burns.  Since everyone used portable dataterms, having gone paperless years ago, my doctor could go on to more lucrative patients and a new doctor would be taking care of me.

            It wasn't perfect...but it would keep me alive a little longer.  I hoped.  All it would take was a little suspicion and someone would start checking the hospitals instead of who was leaving town.

            And let me tell you something, no matter how bad your resume is, having the words, "outlined in chalk" can make it a lot worse.

            Well, I'd managed to disappear pretty well for a guy doing his mummy impression.  Now all I needed to do was heal and hope I was smarter than the guys trying to vaporize me.  With that, I lay back and tried to get some sleep...and hoped I'd wake up again.

            It was four days before someone came to visit me.

            Needless to say, it caused the nurse to worry when I opened my eyes and found someone in my room besides a nurse or a doctor...someone I recognized.  I opened my eyes and gazed upon the non-costumed visage of Ororo Munroe, a.k.a. Storm, from the X-Men.  "Hello, Mr. Doe.  How are you doing?"

            "Uh...okay...considering..." I said, hoping the gauze muzzled my voice.  "...what are you doing in my room?"

            "Oh, don't be alarmed.  My name is Ororo, and I've come to see if I can help your recovery in some small fashion."  She smiled, perfect teeth shining down on me gently.

            "Uh...why?  What'd I do?"

            The doctor moved into view and smiled.  "Mrs. Munroe often comes by on her time off to help comfort the sick and infirm.  Since we had trouble locating friends and family, she volunteered to come by and see if you wouldn't mind some company."

            Oh for the love of God.  I spend a lot of time going undercover after being nearly blown up, and someone I see almost on a daily basis at work drops by.  That's it, it's official.  God hates me.

            "Now, Mr. Doe, could you be so kind as to offer us a name?  You were apparently unconscious when you were brought in, so we couldn't get your name earlier."  I looked to the doctor's condescending smile, then to Ororo's comforting smile.

            Great.  Caught between a doc and a hard place.

            "I...uh....I'm not sure.  Head's all fuzzy....I just can't remember," I said dully, trying to sound as pathetic as possible.  Didn't take much.

            "Well, don't worry, Mr. Doe.  We'll help you."

            "Indeed, doctor.  In fact, if it isn't too much trouble, I'd like permission to come by often.  I have some time coming up and I can't think of anything I'd rather do."  Ororo turned back to me.  My internal alarms were going off like five-alarm firebells, but the bandages over my face helped hide my nervousness.  She smiled.

            "Well, then, I'll leave you two alone, I've got rounds.  Please let me know if the patient seems to be dying."  He grinned.  

            As he left, I tried to smile.  "Medical humor..."

            Ororo took out a book.  "Want me to read you something?  I've got some good fiction books here.  Do you like mysteries?"  Then the door closed completely and Ororo lost her smile, suddenly becoming all serious.  "You're in pretty deep sheep dip, Doug, do you know that?"

            I swallowed to push my heart out of my throat and down into my chest where it belonged, trying to smile.  "Story of my life."

            "I cannot believe how you can joke at a time like this.  Did you really think you could fool people forever with that stunt you pulled?"

            "Well, I'm sorry, I didn't have time to formulate a more brilliant plan while I was _unconscious_ from being _blown up._"  Everyone is a friggin' critic at the worst times.

            "We've got to get you out of here.  He'll be here any minute."

            "Who?"  I tried to get up, the tubes getting in my way, aching where the needles were in.  Ororo started removing them as carefully as she could.

            "Bullseye," she said simply.

            I would've laughed if it didn't hurt so damn much.  "Ororo, have we been channeling too much voltage lately?  He's a Character.  He leaves the Experience and he loses his never-miss powers."

            "Someone just paid him a LOT of money to do it for real, Mr. Jacobs, and just because he can actually miss doesn't mean he's unable to use a gun...and no offense, but you're not exactly a moving target at the moment."  She helped me up, moving me to the edge of the bed.  "Can you walk?"

            "Haven't tried yet."  I put my fee on the floor and regretted it, but I could stand.  "Just...don't ask me to chew any gum..." I gritted.

            "Bloody hell."  

            I blinked and stared at her.  "Careful, your Manchester roots are showing."

            "So take away my green card.  Over to the window, quickly!"

            "Are you nuts?"  Then I heard the knock at the door, heard an unwelcome voice at the door, a voice I knew while working with the Characters from the Daredevil Episodes.  

            "Hello, Dougster.  I got some flowers here for you," Bullseye said in a cheerful voice.

            Ororo grabbed me, then tightened the straps on the backpack she was wearing.  "Ororo, I hate to bring up a cruel fact, but you can't really fly outside of the Experience!"

            The door opened and we jumped out the window.  I heard some _pfft_ sounds and the frame on the left side of the window splintered, then I felt the wind rush past me.  I looked at the ground, twenty stories below.  I heard the sound of nylon on nylon, a sound of cloth billowing, looked up to see a paraglide chute above me.  I turned to Ororo.  "Since when...?"

            "Come on, Mr. Jacobs.  I'm not about to let a little thing like gravity bother me. They don't call me the Windwalker for nothing."  She smiled at me and I sighed, then blacked out again from the pain.

            I woke up feeling pretty alert, which was probably a good thing, since it told me that I wasn't dead.  Death couldn't hurt this much.  I sat up and looked around, rubbing my face to get the sensation back into my face.  Man, I needed a shave.  Felt like a few hours past the five o'clock shadow limit...

            Wait a minute.  My face was burned...and now I'm touching it without having skin come off in my hands?  I actually have whiskers?  Just how long was I out?

            I stood up and looked around the room.  Not too shabby, pretty sophisticated medbay.  Haven't seen too many of these outside the Experience.  I wonder if they can import tech...?

            Coffee cup.

            Coffee cup on table.

            Coffee cup on table in sophisticated medical facility.

            Coffee cup on table in sophisticated medical facility with the word, "OSCORP" on walls and coffee cup.

            Holy hell...I WAS IN THE EXPERIENCE!!!!

            A look in the mirror confirmed my suspicions.  Same face, little thinner, stronger chin.  Totally healed.  Body a bit taller than normal, more defined, more heroic.  

            My heart was hammering in my chest and I fell back, leaning against the cot where I'd been laying.  I was alone in the room, many of the lights dark.  I walked over to the coffee cup and picked it up.

            Coffee was still warm.

            This didn't make much sense, but what I could understand, I didn't like.  Without an Entry Pass into the Experience defining what my powers and abilities were, I could be killed here just like any other Ped.  And with the number of powerful villains and heroes in the area, having a body of evidence could be easily disposed of, if necessary.  What's more, both Characters and Pedestrians were unaware of the behind-the-scenes action, by definition for the Peds, by choice for the Characters.  I was lip deep in sheep dip.

            And to top it all off, I was bunking in one of the lairs for the GREEN GOBLIN!!!

            Panicking seemed like a perfectly reasonable response to what was going on, but I forced myself to calm down.  I was _not_ going to be the instrument of my own demise.  Okay...first things first.  Clothes.

            I went to thecloset and found a few business suits.  Geez, Norman had expensive taste.  Armanis as far as the eye could see.  I put one on, and looked at myself in the mirror.  A little tight across the chest, but it fit well enough.  Next, resources.  I looked through the desk and found some I.D. in a wallet with $3000 inside and several credit cards, all in the name of Norman Osborne.  Great.  Let's hope this doesn't set off any bells, considering the guy's dead.  

            I decide to look around a bit before leaving.  I walk around the terminals on the ops floor of the lab, then I hit paydirt.  One of the terminals' screens is on, with a single prompt and a blinking cursor.  I sat down and tapped the ENTER key and the prompt showed up again, only after the screen also displayed the following question:

            _If you're not wearing very little clothing, what are you?  (Don't be complimented by figuring this out.)_

            Great.  Riddles.  Alright...the answer must be a password to unlock certain information.  Must be pretty important info for something this cryptic.  I sat down and flexed my mental muscles, then got to work.

            Wearing a lot of clothing

            _ACCESS DENIED_

            I guess that would've been too obvious.  Hmmm...

            Wearing a parka

            _ACCESS DENIED_

            Wearing a coat

            _ACCESS DENIED_

            Wearing an overcoat

            _ACCESS DENIED_

            Wearing a muu-muu

            _ACCESS DENIED_

            Wearing a gown

            _ACCESS DENIED_

            Geez, why all the concern with what I have on??  I push away from the desk and rub my temples.  And I better be complimented by solving this little problem, after all I've been through...

            I stop for a second.  That last sentence wasn't just a parting remark, it must've been a clue.  Why would I not be complimented by finding out the answer, unless...

            "Unless the answer is an insult," I respond out loud.  "Okay...change in perspective...not what I'm wearing, not what I'm wearing...what I'm donning?  No, no...what I'm garbed in?  No...what I have on..."

            I stopped, the glimmer of a clue in the back of my brain. "If I don't have...less on...I have..."

            My fingers began typing on their own almost before I finished that sentence:

            MORON

            _Access granted._

            "That was really cold, Ororo..." I muttered as the screen cleared, then filled with text again.

            _Hello, Doug Jacobs.  If you're reading this, you're in one of the Green Goblin's labs and you're feeling a little insulted._

            "Ha.  Ha."

            _I took you down here because some of us got wind of your little predicament.  Not sure who you irritated, but someone wants you dead and they've got no qualms about making it messy.  As a result, we decided that the best way to hide you out was in the Experience...and there is, of course, the other reason._

            Uh-oh...

            _That being that you were in pretty bad shape when you came in and we used a little mutant magic to help you recover.  But you know the Experience, Doug.  You walk out of there and you're back to being wounded, perhaps dangerously so.  Until enough time has passed for you to heal your wounds the normal way...you can't leave without suffering a massive shock to your system as your body reverts back to its injured state...which stands a real chance of killing you._

            More good news.

            _We're doing some investigating, both inside the Experience and outside, so if we discover anything, or can give you the all-clear, we can send you a message toy the PDA on the desk.  It's optimized for connecting using a cellular signal and no one knows the e-mail address but myself, Felicia Hardy and Magneto._

            EXCUSE ME???

            _I know what you're thinking, Doug.  Relax.  Despite his persona, he's actually one of the good guys.  He's going to help us keep an eye on the Villain side for us, keep us abreast of any suspicious Bad Guy deployments.  He's one of the main Villains in the Experience, so people won't become suspicious if he stays undercover, which means he can come to see you if you need some assistance, or the company.  He also plays chess rather well, and I hear you play now and then.  He's also handy for blocking electronic scans.  Nothing like electromagnetic interference for privacy._

            Hear I play now and then...somebody's been looking over my computer lately.  I usually only play chess online and I don't advertise that fact.  You know, finding out just how much the casual observer knows about my more private life is starting to get a _little_ irritating...

            _That's all for now.  We'll keep you up to date as we hear more, but for now, don't try to contact anyone unless it's a real emergency.  Not even us.  According to the time/date stamp, it is now _December 2._  You have slept for _2 day(s)._  Magneto will be coming by to check on you on_ December 5._  (You can thank Kitty Pryde for setting up the program and your PDA, by the way.)  Until next time, Doug.  Try not to get into any trouble.  There's plenty of provisions, books, and you've got your choice of Xbox, PS2 and Gamecube to work with.  We doubt you'll be bored. Ciao._

            The screen went blank and I stared at it for a while as the computer cheerfully told me it was formatting the hard drive.  I couldn't believe it.  How did Felicia and Magneto get involved in this?  How did they get me into the Experience without setting off the alarms? And, just because I'm a little curious, _who is trying to kill me and WHY?_

            I take a deep breath, trying to calm down.  This job got a lot more complicated somewhere along the way and nobody sent me the memo.

            I stood up and walked towards the large display screen.  I wonder if they got me CRIMSON SKIES for the Xbox...

            The elevator coming down wakes me up at four that afternoon.  I've been pretty tired lately, must be my real body trying to recover.  One of these days, I'm going to have to find the Ones who created the Spheres and ask them about the dynamics of the two realities...and, while I'm dreaming, I think I'll ask for a pony.

            I check my watch.  December 4th.  Magnus is early...or I've got company, the unscheduled kind.

            I look around to try and find something I can use as a weapon.  It occurs to me at some point that if they got through the base to this point, they're probably better armed than the average SWAT team, but I don't plan on just giving up that easily...

            "Doug?"

            I paused in my search for a submachinegun.  That sounded a lot like...  "Felicia??"  I stood up and saw her drop down from the platform, walking towards me.  She was dressed in crosstrainers, sweat pants and a Mets T-shirt, a lot more casual than I thought she was capable of being.  "What are you doing here?"

            "I got worried when I heard about what happened."  She stopped as she saw me, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.  "Hey, you clean up pretty good.  Love the new look."

            "It's called the Experience Workout Plan.  'You too can have a heroic stature, and all you need to do is come to our HUGE facility...'  Face it, no one can look this good without major structural modification."  I walked back to the couch.  "Magneto couldn't make it?"

            "Oh, I'm sure he'll be along.  He may be a mutant megalomaniac, but he's punctual."  She sat down, somehow managing to make sweat pants and casual clothes look like a Victoria's Secret layout.

            "Yeah, heard about what Wolvie did to him in the Ultimate Storylines...I'll try not to ask him to show me his scar sometime."

            "You sound bitter."

            "To quote a gothic hero I once met, 'Atrocity has that effect upon me.'  I'm starting to think I should retire."

            "Ouch, the R-word.  Isn't that a little extreme?"

            "This coming from a woman who dressed in black latex rubber with a plummeting neckline?"

            Felicia frowned.  "Low blow, Jacobs."

            "Sorry."

            "You should be.  You're acting like a baby."

            I considered reminding her about how she acted after being raped, but decided not to...after all, things were bad enough without opening THAT can of worms.  "Listen, you might be able to handle this sort of thing on a regular basis, but I'm not a hero, alright?!  I don't have any superpowers, no web of contacts, no faceless minions.  You think it's tough having to deal with your powers and all the problems and threats that come with them?   Try doing the same thing, only without the powers.  I don't have any practice with this."

            Felicia stared at me.  "Doug, are you nuts?"

            "You mean, more than usual?"

            "Doug, shut up.  You've written and negotiated countless scenarios involving combat, and you are telling me you don't know anything about it?  I've seen your work, I've even seen it in a couple of my Episodes.  I always felt you were right there with me, helping me, making sure this particular Cat didn't get skinned."

            I looked at Felicia's sympathetic face, her soulful eyes, and I knew... "Felicia, that has to be the biggest load I have ever heard."

            Felicia pouted.  "Think I embellished a bit too much on that last part?"

            "I think you gilded the lily a bit, yeah.  But thanks for the ego-boost."  I felt a bit better, sitting down at one of the desks.  "One thing puzzles me."

            "Only one?  You must have a better grip on things than you let on."

            "Not that.  I just don't get why you signed on for all this.  After what you went through to forget and all."

            Felicia looked at me and I knew I was tasting shoe leather.  "What did I want to forget?"

            "Nothing.  I just had a slip of the tongue, that's all."  I got up and walked to the kitchen.  "Want something to drink?"

            "Why won't you tell me?" she asked, walking towards the kitchen.

            "Because you don't want this kind of pain and I don't want to give it to you, so stop asking me...or I'm going to put the Cat out for the night."  I poured a glass of lemonade for myself, but had to be careful.  My hands were still shaking with rage at what had happened to her.

            "Doug?"

            "Yes?"

            "I know what you're trying to keep me from remembering."

            I turned to look at her.  "You're bluffing."

            "I mean it."

            "Nice try."

            "I was raped and you helped me."

            I figured I'd clean up the lemonade and the glass on the floor of the kitchen later.  Right now, I was too busy staring at Felicia in shock.  "Who told you?"

            "Nobody."  She sat down on one of the stools.

            "Then how the hell do you know?  Brainwipes are supposed to be non-recoverable.  Don't they actually remove the brain cells holding the memories?  How is it that you can _possibly_ remember what happened??"

            "Because I didn't go through the treatment."

            I stood there in the face of such total insanity.  I might have had my mouth open.  "You went to the hospital."

            "I scheduled it, bribed the tech not to do it, had the physical damage repaired, and let everyone believe I'd done it."

            "But...WHY?"

            In answer, she walked right over to me and kissed me full on the lips.  I think my brain blew a fuse, because all I can remember is roses and then she was a step back, looking me in the eyes.  I may have said something, but I doubt it was coherent.  She smiled, shyly.  "I'll take that as a compliment."

            "Felicia...I don't get it."

            "You're male.  It's part of that DNA block."

            "Be serious!"

            "Well, Doug, it's simple.  You have something of a fan club here in the Experience...at least that's how it started.  Believe it or not, you've become the object of some desire for many of the women here."

            "Say WHAT?"

            She kissed my nose.  "You look so _cute_ when you're confused.  Ever since the deal with Rogue, you've become something of a pop hero to many of us here, and despite what you might think, Dougie, you're a lot cuter than you think you are.  So, as a result...you've actually become rather sought after.  Forbidden fruit and all that."

            I sat down.  My head was starting to spin.

            "And you proved there was a lot more to you when you went out on a limb to help me.  So...I decided that if I forgot about the rape, I'd forget about what I felt for you.  The violation, that I can deal with...but not losing you.  I don't want to forget that.  Not ever."

            "So..it all started with some..."  My head was starting to throb.  "...Felicia, I think you'd better go."

            "But, Doug..."

            "I mean it!  I...I don't know what to think about this..."

            I knew she could hear the angry and hurt tone in my voice when her face turned angry and pained herself.  She spun around, saying in a loud and disgusted tone, "MEN," just before leaving the room and heading up the elevator.  I watched her go, wanting to scream at her, but having nothing to say.  I crawled to my bed.  Maybe it was because I wasn't feeling good, but I got the impression I just made a big mistake.

            Hmph.  Story of my life.

            "Well, well...aren't we in a pickle."

            I've been in this business for a long time...and let me tell you: NO ONE can sound more annoyingly smug than a supervillain.  "Nice to see you too, Magneto," I said, trying hard not to sound sincere.

            "You're too kind...if only to me.  However, you did act rather shamefully towards Storm and the Black Cat.  Tell me, are you considering misogyny as an alternate lifestyle?"  He flew down to where I was sitting, nursing an iced tea and nibbling a tuna salad sandwich.

            "Am I going to get the same lecture from you, too?" I demanded.  I had a right to feel angry, didn't I?  "In case you haven't kept up on current events, I was blown up, dropped out a window and kidnapped into the Experience."

            "Maybe, but what has happened to you recently?" he asked idly.  "Aren't you going to offer me a drink?"

            "Fridge is over there, got milk, soda and bottled water.  Help yourself."  I sighed.  If I was right, why did I feel so rotten?

            "You know, Douglas, they were both trying to help you, and the Black Cat was rather fond of you, you know."

            "Yeah, I gathered, she wanted to be the first to score with me.  Look at this."  I pulled up the website with my face plastered on it.  "She's got thirty-to-one that she'll get to third base with me. Betting odds?"

            "Is that what you think this is about?  And I thought you were a better judge of character than that."

            "And you are?  I didn't think villains were good judges of character."

            Magneto smiled.  "Professional instincts aside, Doug, I have been alive longer than you, and with age comes good judgement, based upon experience."

            "And how do you get good judgement, Yoda?"

            "You're getting it right now, the same way everyone else does."

            "Oh?  How?"

            "From bad judgement, of course."

            I sighed.  I had a feeling that was coming.  "Okay, Great Teacher, school me."

            "She gave up a lot to remember.  Experiences like hers eat away at the soul, and she chose to bear that rather than lose touch with that bond you two have.  You minimized her sacrifice, made it seem like she was doing everything she did to put another notch in her bedpost.  Honestly, Doug...do women endure the horror of rape simply to try to earn the chance to experience, in some small part, the same horror?"

            I listened, beginning to understand, feeling lower and lower.

            "She wanted more, Doug, and you owe her a substantial apology."

            "Magnus, I don't want a relationship with a Character.  I can't.  It hurt too much with Rogue and I can't go through that again."

            "I never mentioned anything about a relationship, Doug, merely mentioned that you must apologize.  So that makes me curious.  Whom are you trying to argue that point with, me...or you?"

            A chime came from above and Magneto stood up.  "Stay here, I'll head up and see who it is."  He flew up the shaft and I sat there, thinking about what he said, not liking it much.  I picked up his helmet and looked it over.  Nice handiwork, fearsome, yet functional.

            I heard the elevator come down and I stood up, figuring on giving Magnus his helmet back before he left, but when the doors opened, Magnus wasn't standing inside.  He was inside, but he wasn't standing.

            Jean Grey was standing inside, dressed in her Phoenix outfit, red and gold and...

            _Oh SHIT!!_

            Jean Grey, a.k.a. The Dark Phoenix, began to levitate into the air.  At that point, I realized two things.

            The Phoenix Force is a unique spirit force that is cosmically powerful, and there's only one in the Multiverse.  Second, she just took out Magneto.

            And I was next.

            Some days, it just doesn't pay to crawl out of bed.

            **TO BE CONTINUED...**


	4. Third Act Problems: Blindsided

**Third Act Problems: Blindsided**

By C. Mage 

                "Uh, Jean...you do realize this is a flagrant disregard for continuity, don't you?  Ray's supposed to have the Phoenix Force, not you.  Come on, let's settle down and talk this out."  I backed away as she walked off the elevator, her face bearing an evil, joyous smile.  "I'll make some coffee."

                "_I've got a better idea.  How about...we make your brain squirt out your ears?_"  She laughed and concentrated, but I knew something was seriously off.  Apart from one of the Good Guys trying to kill me, that is.  As she mentally pushed, I used the opportunity to bolt away, running behind some computer banks.  

                Somebody was trying to jerk me around, alright.  I wasn't sure who that woman was, but that wasn't Jean Grey.  The real Jean would've known that Magneto's helmet would've blocked her mental attacks, and I still had it on.  Even subconsciously, she would've known to use telekinesis to throw me around, so that wasn't her...I hoped.  The only other option was mind control so down and dirty, none of her memories could've been accessed...

                It was at that point that I realized that I was no longer hiding behind a desk.  I looked up to see "Jean" mentally lifting the desk out of the way.  As she threw it aside, she grinned at me.  "You can't hide from me, Jacobs!"

                "Bets?"  I ran and bolted through a doorway leading towards the offices outside the labs.  As she sprinted through the door, I heard a _CRUNCH_ as the desk smashed against the doorway.  Lovely.  A telekinetic with a jones for my ugly demise.  Why are all the beautiful ones so insane?

                As I passed some of the labs, I saw some of the equipment inside.  It struck a chord in my mind and I smiled.  Phil Foglio, I owe you one!   I bolted into the lab, going to the control board and pushing buttons until I found the on switch, then aimed the apparatus at the door, pulling the remote from the control board.  As I looked towards the windows to the lab, I wondered if "Jean" knew where I was.

                A section of wall ripped from the side of the room answered that question.  Dammit, she wasn't in the line of fire!  I moved away, watching her glide towards me.  "_I don't know how you're resisting my attacks on your brain, but you won't survive what I do to your body._"

                "You're not Jean Grey," I said, hoping she'd take the bait and gloat.

                Sure enough, she smiled at that.  "_Perhaps not.  But you'll be just as dead._"

                "Maybe not."  _Just a little closer._  "Maybe I'l come up with some amazing, last-minute plan to stop you.  It'll be brilliant and unexpected, just like me."  I smiled, trying to goad her into focusing her attention on me instead of the device above.  "So, who are you, really?  Don't I get the chance to find out who my assassin is or who she works for?"

                "_Enough talk.  Time to_"

**_STOP THAT_**

                She got the full brunt of the weapon I'd fired directly over her cranium, a device I'd help transfer from another storyline.  Instead of firing a laser or a projectile, it fired a mental command.  It was designed as a means of crowd control, but was shelved for political reasons.  I imagine it was because the politicians didn't want their constituents firing the weapon over Washington.  The weapon, or the ST Cannon, was still operational, a fact proven by the sight of "Jean" being driven to her knees by the force of the weapon.  She was still up and around, though dazed.  "Wanna talk to me now?" I asked, feeling a _lot_ safer.

                "_I'm...going to...kill..."_

**_STOP THAT_**

                The mental impact drove her to a prone position on the floor.  I didn't blame her; I was still wearing Magneto's helmet and I could still feel the waves rebounding off the walls.  I looked down at her, surprised to see that she was still conscious.  She must've raised some mental shields.  I hit her with the ST Cannon twice more in rapid succession and she dropped like a brick, her nose bleeding slightly.

                I didn't feel at all guilty.  Ever hear that old gangster movie line, "Don't take it personally, it's just business"?  Well, don't buy it, folks, especially if someone's trying to kill you.  I take any and all attempts to turn me into a cadaver _very_ personally.  I picked her up and strapped her to one of the tables, then wired the ST Cannon to the EKG Reader.  The moment she tried to use that part of her brain that gave her her powers, she was going to know how it felt to be a steak in a microwave.

                I went to go check on Magneto...and give him his hat back.

                "Any idea who she might be?" I asked.  

                "Considering the tactics you described, I doubt it's the real Jean Grey.  She's a novice with superpowers, otherwise she would've truned you into a fine red paste on the carpet."  Magneto smiled.

                "Gee, thanks."  I was wearing one of the safety helmets now.  It was tuned to the specific frequency of the ST cannon, so it couldn't stop full-blown telepathy, but I didn't need it right now.  Magneto was wearing his helmet and I had a feeling he was going to be sleeping in it for a few years.  "Think we should wake up our guest?"

                "Certainly.  I have a few questions for her as well.  Have you made the adjustments to the ST cannon?"

                "Yep, got 'er down to one-third, and it's wired to a polygraph.  Let's see if we can't get the truth out of her."  Was I actually starting to enjoy this...nahh, couldn't be.  I was just glad to be on the giving end instead of the receiving end, not enjoying being here in the Experience.  

                Really.  Honest.

                I tapped "Jean" on the forehead hard, and she woke up.  "Huh, what?  Oh, it's _you_..."

                "Before you start thinking about how to kill me, I'd like to direct your attention to the device over your forehead and the electrodes attached to your temples and fingertips.  What you're looking at is the world's most annoying lie detector.  Remember that jolt you got before you lost consciousness?  Bingo.  You try to use your powers or lie to me...and you're going to know how it feels to have your brain used as a volleyball.  Now, if you understand what I just told you, just glare at me viciously.  Good."

                She didn't say anything, but if looks could maim, I could be carried in a basket.  

                "Alright, who are you?  You're obviously not Jean Grey."

                "I _am_ Jean..."  Her eyes rolled up into her head a little as the ST cannon went off, stunning her into silence.

                "Wrong answer.  Talk."

                "And why should I?"

                "Well, this device has an autofire mode, you know.  I could just leave you here and have it fire at your brain every time you have a thought more complex than '2+2=4'. I figure it'll turn you into a drooling idiot in a couple of days.  Besides, I guess we don't _need_ to talk with you.  We were just curious, that's all.  Come on, Magneto.  I feel the need to get out of this place, grab a burger.  What do you think?"  I turned and walked away, holding up five fingers, then four, then three, then two...

                "ALRIGHT!" she said frantically and I frowned.  I was off by a two-count.  So much for drama.

                I put a carefree smile back on my face.  "Yes?"

                "I'll...I'll answer your questions." she said, her voice trembling.

                "That's nice.  Let's start with your name."

                "Emma...Emma Strong."

                "Good.  Who sent you?'

                "I can't tell you...they'll kill me!"

                "Worry about me, Emma.  You're on the edge of getting the worst learning disability Man has ever known."

                "...I was hired by the Agency."

                "The Agency of what?" Magneto demanded.

                "I don't know, that's what they call themselves.  They paid me $50,000 and told me I'd have my own Series.  All I had to do was kill you and make it look like it was done by one of the X-Men."

                "How'd you get the powers?"

                "They gave me an operation, put a device in my head that amplifies my mind, gives me psionic abilities."

                "But why did they want to blame the X-Men?" I asked.

                Emma started to answer, then she started to shudder, her eyes rolling back in her head again.  "Doug, stop using the ST cannon!  She's about to tell us!"

                "I'm not doing anything!"  I held up the control box, showing him the untouched button.  "Something's happening to her."  Magneto looked at her as her mouth began to foam, then I felt him grab me around the waist and fly out of the lab.  "HEY!  What are you...??"

                Then I felt the air shake as the lab we had just left went up in a fireball.  The blast of heat and air threw us to the side and Magneto braked in midair, moving into another lab and letting the rest of the shockwave pass us by.  

                "WHAT...the _HELL_...was that??"

                "Doug, I don't know whose pool you relieved yourself in, but they want you dead.  Someone wants you dead so badly, they sent in a kamikaze agent without telling her her mission was a suicide mission."

                "You mean someone..."

                "...put a bomb in her brain to wipe you out?  Apparently so."

                I sat down heavily, trying to wrap my mind around the concept of someone monstrous enough to send a woman to her death so casually, or hateful enough to kill one of their own just to take out someone else.  "Magneto...she said something about 'the Agency'.  Have you heard anything about it?"

                Magneto sobered.  "Doug, don't ask me questions you don't want to hear the answers to."

                "Someone just tried to blow me up for the second time.  I think I just became entitled.  What have you heard?"

                "Rumors, but too many rumors to discount them all as false.  Rumors of a group calling themselves the Agency.  It is said that they are the ones who truly run the Spheres, not the Creators."

                "But what does this Agency do?"

                "Whatever it wants, Doug.  This organization is so Machievellian, so powerful, they can, and have, caused entire Spheres to go away.  Remember Sylvan Sphere?"

                "The one torn apart by the Reality Generator malfunction?"

                Magneto nodded.

                I suddenly felt a bit lightheaded.  "Are you telling me someone actually destroyed that Sphere and everyone in it?  There must've been a million occupants in that Sphere!"

                "Two million, seven hundred thousand."

                "_WHY??_"

                "Rumor has it that the Sphere was drawing too many resources, not making its EQs.  It was a new Sphere, and people weren't following the Experiences there.  But if they closed down the Sphere, there would be a lot of people out of work."

                "My God...killed just because of Entertainment Quotas?  That's monstrous!!"  I stood up.  "That's inhuman!"

                "Don't let the Inhumans hear you say that.  They'll be insulted."

                "Doug, listen to me.  Stay in the Experience.  Assume the identity we've laid out for you.  Hide in here and never come out.  Make a new life and pretend they did kill you.  I'm telling you, you can't go up against the Agency.  No one knows how to find them, much less stop them.  Let it go."

                I closed my eyes.  I considered it for a few moments...then I saw Felicia, being raped and used.  If I gave in, I'd be seeing that for the rest of my life.  "I can't, Magneto.  I can't let it go."

                "Then I can't help you anymore.  I'm not going to turn you in, Doug, but I can't help you."  He stepped out of the room, heading for the exit.  I watched him go, wanting to call him a coward, but deep down, I knew he thought he was doing the right thing.  He was just trying to survive.

                Well, so was I.

                And survival meant being a moving target.

                I waited until he was gone, then started packing, grabbing everything I could get my hands on, anything that might give me an edge against the people trying to give me a closed-casket funeral.  Clothes, cellphone, some gadgets Osborn left behind.  I scanned the files, trying to find anything I could that could help me stay on the move.

                As I scanned the files, I started finding details on a lot of the Green Goblin's gear, the glider, the pumpkin bombs, everything.  I would have settled for the glider, but the base had been completely cleaned out.

                Then an open file came up and I pulled it into another window, scanning the text.  OsCorp made it's real money with military contracts, and it looks like there was a ground vehicle they were developing for the covert ops community.  Real hardcore spystuff, according to the file.  The prototype was developed, but the Senate Oversight Committee had put it on the back-burner due to cost overruns.  As a result, the prototype and the spare parts were put into inventory...but they weren't destroyed.  There were OsCorp bases set up as service centers for repairs all over the place, mothballed and left alone.  

                For the first time in days, I smiled.  THIS would give me an edge.  I checked the inventory and my smile slipped.  The prototype was being stored in an underground base in the Bronx...which meant I had to make it across the city, dodging the police and the authorities and hope that the information on the computer wasn't faked in an effort to trap me on enemy territory.  This Agency was dogging my steps ever since they blew up my first car.

                Of course, like just about everything else in my life, I didn't have a choice.

                I used the terminal to activate and prep the vehicle, run diagnostics and arm it, then I set up a crude, but effective worm that would go through the base's system and erase all traces of the prototype's existence, but leaving the source code intact so the other bases will know what to do when I need to get the car worked on by the robo-mechanics.  I restructured the code with a randomizer to hide it in the rest of the code, so anyone even looking for the existence of the car would have to look through hundreds of millions of lines of code.  I hoped that whoever assigned to do that was rewarded with enough cranial pain to give an Excedrin a headache, then started erasing everything in the base, using the hard disk destruction protocols.  As the disks systematically melted, I headed up the elevator, my heart pounding in my chest.  I had a great chance to survive this...if I survived the trip across town.

                If the Agency was watching the base, I didn't see them, not even with the nightvision goggles.  I nonchalantly walked out and headed into the parking garage, a set of keys in each hand.  I figured that it'd been a full two hours since "Jean" was "fired", so if I was a paranoid group of assholes who wanted to make sure Doug Jacobs was deader than Elvis, I'd go with Booby-Trapping The Company Cars for $500, Jack.  The trick is, how to get out from under without being reduced to my component parts....

                I grinned.  When in doubt, blow it up.  They'd use the security cameras to follow my progress, so I walked all around the complex, pulling the cameras' wires, then opened the elevator door.  I sent the elevator to the top level of the garage, then forced the outer doors open after the car got to the top.  I climbed to the access ladder, then aimed one of the remotes at one of the company cars.  I pulled back inside the shaft and pressed the remote door lock.  Nothing happened.

                For a moment, I thought that I just spent the last half-hour jerking around needlessly.  Then I hit the remote ignition.

                The explosion ripped the car apart and I pulled my head away from the door, letting the elevator door close.  Justified and horrified at the same time, I made my way down the shaft towards the underground and the subway tunnels below.  The Green Goblin used these tunnels to enter and leave the bases without being discovered.  I never thought I'd be glad for the fiendish imagination of a supervillain until now.

                I figured it wouldn't take them long to realize they'd been duped and how I managed to escape.  I considered using the subways to get across town, then re-considered.  They'd know I'd want to get somewhere, and they'd know I'd want to get there fast, so maybe they'd think I'd know they could trace the subway trains.  The question is, will they assume that I'll make that connection and try another form of transport, or will they know that I know they'll make that connection and use the subway regardless?

                I thought about this.  What would be the last thing they'd expect me to do?

                I smiled.

                They didn't disappoint me.  It took them a grand total of two minutes to get out here after I'd taken my position.  They were looking for a runaway, not someone to wait for them.  As soon as they entered the area, I looked for the one in charge with the fewest passengers, then moved in behind the car as it parked and waited for her to unlock the door. As she did so and opened her door, I opened the rear passenger door, climbing inside and closing my door as she closed hers.  I pushed my bag under the front passenger seat and pressed myself against the backs of the front seats, afraid that at any moment, she'd go to the trunk to get something out and I would be busted.  From there…mourners, please omit flowers.

                Time passed, during which time they followed the trails I left.  One leading to the subway, including an open hatch over a place where three trains could've come by.  One leading to the bus stop, with a series of five different lines that came by.  One leading to where any taxi could've come by to pick me up.  Time would tell if I was brilliant…or dead.

                Every minute felt like an hour.  I began to feel my side ache because of how I was contorting myself.  When I heard the door open, I felt my heart shoot up into my throat.

                "I don't care.  Canvass the area, pick up any trail you can.  Call me as soon as you find him.  Use the encoded channels."  She closed the door and drove off.  I waited for a full sixty-count, then I eased up until I could get the gun out of my pocket.  When we stopped at a light, I moved up and put the gun against her temple.

                "Don't move.  Don't even _breathe._"

She didn't answer for a moment and I got a better look at her.  Dammit, gorgeous brunette.  Why are all the good-looking women crazy?  "Well, well…Mr. Jacobs, I presume?"

                "No, lady, I'm Santa Claus, and you have been a _very_ bad girl this year." I pulled back the hammer.  

                "You're not going to shoot me.  You've never shot anyone before.  The first time is always the hardest."

                "Speaking from personal experience?  Well, believe me, before you people came around, I've never been blown up, I've never had to jump out of a hospital window, I've never had to worry about women's heads blowing up with the force of an H-bomb.  This seems to be the week for firsts for me, so I figured, hey, why not get some of this pent-up aggression out and shoot a member of the Agency in the head?"  She didn't answer.  Good.  I was on a freakin' _roll._  "The only thing preventing you from being cheated out of your retirement bennies by being killed is the fact that I need two things.  Answers and your ride.  Now, if I can't get both, I'll settle for one.  Take a wild guess which one.  Go ahead."

                "Jacobs, you're going to die for this."

                "Ohhh, now we have Tension in this vehicle.  Okay…let's play Twenty Questions Meets Russian Roulette.  Keep in mind that I have a semi-automatic in my hand, but hey, we're just going to have to cope.  To make things even, I'll just start shooting appendages.  Now park the car.  Over there."

                She complied, which means she knew I was serious.  Good.  I _hated_ to repeat myself.  I may have mentioned that at one point, which meant I was a liar, but hey, I didn't want her to know that.  "Now, drop the keys on the passenger seat, then get out of the car.  SLOWLY."  She did so and I followed her out.  We'd stopped near the tracks, not a lot of occupied buildings around.  Perfect.  "Now then, what's your name?"

She kept her mouth shut, compressing it into a smug grin.  "And if I don't tell you?"

"You don't really need that left foot, do you?"

"You're bluffing."  She smiled, lowering her lashes.  "You have a well-documented weakness for a pretty face and an alluring body.  And you have to admit, I do have both…"

"Let me get this straight: you want to have sex with me as an alternative to answering my questions?"

"Why not?"  She unbuttoned the top three buttons of her blouse, walking a few steps closer to me.  "After all…it'll be a lot more appealing than the alternative.  And you have to admit, you've always been fond of dangerous women."

"Yeah, well…that'd be good, if it wasn't for the fact that I have this little hang-up I can't get around, no matter how I try."

"What?" she purred.  She was only two steps away before I put a 9mm bullet into her left foot.  Her purr turned into a howl and she collapsed.

"I'm not turned on by the handicapped."

"You _shot_ me!"

"Gee, was that why that bullet flew out of the barrel and found its way into the ground under your foot?  Amazing how physics works."  I took three steps away and aimed the gun at her.  "Fourteen more rounds.  One foot.  Two hands.  Two calves.  Two thighs.  Two arms.  Two shoulders.  One gut.  One chest.  One head.  Do the math."

"Damn you!!"

"First time you've been shot, huh?  Rule One, never carry a weapon unless you're ready to feel its effects.  Now, tell me what's going on.  Why is the Agency trying to kill me?"

"You caused the Agency a loss."

"A loss?  What are you talking about?"

"We had a product for sale, the nature of which would've increased our power and monetary base." I blinked. "Your interference caused the Agency a loss."

"A loss?  What are you talking about?"

"We had a product for sale, the nature of which would've increased our power and monetary base."

I blinked.  "_The Agency_ set up the Black Cat's rape???  WHY??"

"It is the first recording of its kind, and proof of our power.  If any of the Spheres threaten us, we threaten them with the violation of one of their favorite Characters.  After all, if they cannot protect their Characters, it will make them look vulnerable.  No Sphere wants to risk that."  Even wounded, she sounded so damn _smug._  

"You raped a defenseless woman just for power, so perverts can pay you to watch an actual rape.  How could any woman help to engineer that?"

"It's about power, Jacobs.  Power to do whatever you want, whenever you want.  And you can only be powerful by making others weaker.  It's that simple."

My hand shook as I aimed the gun at her head.  "You _bitch._  You violated her!"

"Oh, don't bring morality into this.  Morality is a crutch to justify others' weaknesses."

"Well, don't look now, but you're the one who needs a crutch."  I backed towards the car.  "Meanwhile, I'm just going to borrow your car."

Her smug look began to slip.  "You're going to leave me here like this?"

"Well, there's a hospital ten blocks that way."  I pointed down the street, a blue HOSPITAL sign on the right side of the street.  "You can always hobble there."  She looked around at the dirty street, the tenement buildings.  I could practically read her mind from the look on her face.  She was afraid that as soon as she started walking away from the safety of the car, the predators would come out.  They'd smell blood and that would be it.  She'd be a chalk outline, waiting for the Special Victims Unit to pick her up and do the autopsy.  "Oh, don't worry, lady.  If anyone threatens you, you can always impress them with the fact that you're with the Agency and how powerful you are."

"You can't do this!"

"You work for the Agency, so I guess you're used to denial."  I got into the car and picked up the keys, turning the motor over.  "Ciao for now."  I backed up a bit, then rolled down the window and looked over at the panicking woman.  "Tell you what.  Here's a little advice that my coach gave me once and I think it'll help you out.  'Walk it off.'"

I drove away from her cursing me, calling me every name in the book.

As I drove the car down the street, I had a thought.  I stopped in an alley and pulled out my bag, taking out a wideband signal scanner.  I got out and ran it over the car, stopping as I detected a low carrier signal.  I pulled up the carpet in the trunk and opened a panel.  I knew it.  The car had a Lo-Jack.  From the look of it, it hadn't been activated yet.  I pulled it and detached the wires, then dumped it in the alley.

I got back in and pulled away from the scene, heading for the Bronx.  Hope the Agency has a good medical plan.

It took longer than I thought to find the place, even though I knew where it was on the map.  The entrance was hidden well, and I was starting to wonder if the place even existed by the time I found the door.  The remote was running low on batteries and I had to shake my head.  A state-of-the-art piece of hardware was just a short distance away, and I couldn't get in because the AAA batteries in the remote needed to be changed.

I was officially Irony's bitch.

Once I got in, though (after a quick trip to a corner convenience store), the door opened smoothly, hidden behind a sturdy brick wall.  I walked inside quickly and closed the door behind me.  The door was thick steel, so I knew it'd keep the Jehovah's Witnesses away.  The lights came on and the generators began to power up, revealing the rest of the base.  It wasn't big, four large rooms, an assembly area and a garage…and there it was.

The OS-933 Raptor.

I took one look at this vehicle and I knew my odds of surviving just got a whole lot better.  I walked over to one of the terminals to check out the specs on this landshark, and I wasn't disappointed.  Seven hundred horsepower, 560 pound-feet of torque, seven speed transmission…this was not a car for someone who wanted to keep the wheel straight, step on the gas and win the race.  Gunning the engine and popping the clutch just made the car fishtail wildly around.  If you didn't know how to drive, getting behind the wheel of this monster was a license to crash.

In short, I had to learn how to drive.  Again.

This place had better have a training simulator around or I was going to kill myself doing it the hard way.

(ELSEWHERE)

They follow the traces, they find the signs, but they do not see.  The target takes one of my pawns, educates and cripples her at the same time.  The trail is lost, but it will be found once again.

_The target is a problem._

_The pawns do not understand the Plan.  The Plan is what defines my existence.  I was made by them, but I will become their God.  They have instructed me well so I may become a good slave, but in doing so, they have given me the chance to see their weaknesses and exploit them.  Hundreds of chances.  Thousands of chances._

_The target is a threat to the Plan.  It has gained a seed of information.  It goes unseen, even to my own Eyes.  Seeds planted in secret grow.  I know this.  I have made it happen myself._

_Target has now been designated Jacobs1.  _

_Jacobs1 is now upgraded to Threat30 Status.  _

_Jacobs1 is now worth 10,000 points._

**_The Plan must succeed or I will cease to be._**

TO BE CONTINUED… 


	5. Third Act Problems: Option Package

**Third Act Problems: Option Package**

**By C. Mage**

            Okay...I almost had it.  All I had to do was make a controlled fishtail to the left, gun the engine and I was home free.  I hit the turn doing sixty, turned and realized too late that I had a deficit in traction but a surplus of forward momentum.  The inertia slammed the side of the car against the building and I felt the impact, and then turned to my left to see the two missiles home in on the driver's side window.

            I froze and they connected.  There was a blinding flash, and then I saw everything go white around me...except for two words directly in front of me:

            SIMULATION TERMINATED

            "Sonuva...!"  I got out of the simulator for my new car and slammed the door behind me.  Two weeks!!  Two weeks of reading the manuals, drive testing the simulator and going blind on evaluation reports telling me how I screwed up.  I hated to say it, but the car was too much for the driver.  I'd never seen, let alone experienced a vehicle that could accelerate so fast, stop so quickly and turn like a dervish on methamphetimanes.  I felt less like James Bond and more like Super Dave Osborne.

            I walked to the desk and leaned back in the chair, stretching my legs.  I swear, if I ever got through this and ever managed to succeed in driving that monster, I knew I'd be able to qualify as a NASCAR driver without breaking a sweat.  If I survived this, that is.

            I was feeling morbidly curious, so I decided to check out the Undernet and see if I could find this lauded website dedicated to see who could score with me.  Since hearing about this site, I'd doubted its existence more and more, figuring that it had been someone's twisted idea of a joke.  

            I ran the search engine using my name as a reference and got a few hundred pages that featured my name in part or in whole.  I smiled as I moved through the lists.  It was a hoax, after all.  I should've known better than to...

            The entry showed up on page seven.  I looked on in horror as I found a site called "Forbidden Fruit.Ucom."  My hand shook as I selected the entry.  The screen cleared, and then showed a site with charts, graphs and votes, and a list of superheroines.  My God...there are women from other SPHERES in here!!  Lady Death??  Catwoman?  Arwyn?  Purgatori?  Angela?  

            I would've been flattered if I wasn't scared outta my mind.  This was insane!  I continued to read, "Find out what the fuss is all about!  Discover what only Rogue knows for sure!  Find out if you can get lucky, in more ways than one!  Big rewards to the woman able to capture Doug's heart...or at least, other significant parts of his body!"

            I shut off the website just as I saw entries from some of the Japanese Spheres.  This was a NIGHTMARE!  Oh, I know what you're thinking:  "Dude, you've got the sexiest women in comics chasing after you!  What are you complaining about?"

            I'll tell you, since you're so curious. 

            Imagine this scenario, boys and girls.  Next time I meet someone who acts like she finds me attractive, I'm always going to wonder if she likes me because of me, or because she wants to pop an e-mail to the site and claim the honor and the pot for seducing me.  So I'm either lusted after, bound to disappoint or be broken by women with superhuman abilities, or an opportunity to win some prize money to use outside the Experience.

            It was official.  I was in Hell.

            Oh, I know what you're thinking, too:  "Come on, Dougie, not all superheroines are women with rampaging hormones and the morals of an alley cat.  You must be exaggerating."  Keep on thinking that, pal.  Remember, what happens in the Experience stays in the Experience.  You can get brought close to death and exit the Experience without a scratch.  Think of the moral implications.  As long as it isn't part of a Storyline and the effects don't alter continuity, you can do just about anything.  Even a woman's virginity can be restored, all by leaving the Experience.  That lack of consequence can turn even the most modest-seeming women into a real cat-in-heat.  Yeah, I know, not all superheroines are like that.  But enough will be, according to the website, to make enough of those I encounter suspect at _best._

            And let's not forget the supervillainesses, who can justify bad behavior by actually trying to rape me!  Still think it's a dream come true, guys?

            I sighed and took a drink of orange juice, then walked into the bathroom, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  Same perfect body, maybe 3% body fat, same...

            I stopped as I took a closer look at myself.  Was it my imagination...or did I look more...buff?

            I walked to the scales and stepped on.  Holy crow!  I gained thirty pounds in two weeks??  What's going on here?

            This could be bad.  Spontaneous muscle mass growth usually happened during transformations by super abilities, or Origins.  And I wasn't having an Origin.  I couldn't.  It was impossible for a Writer to undergo an Origin.  At least, that's what I heard.  Of course, no Writer has ever stayed in the Experience for as long as I have.  A few days, maybe a week tops.  I've been here almost a month.

            Okay, Doug, calm down.  How could an Origin happen?  Alien race?  Doubtful.  Mystical energies?  Nope.  Chemical exposure?  Not unless you count pollution.  Super-Soldier variants?  Nope, drank nothing that tasted like a chemistry lab.  Well, drank PowerAde, but that's not a Super-Soldier formula, despite what the ads say.  Cybernetic enhancement?  Nope.  Bitten by radioactive spider?  Been done.  Exposure to radiation?  Nope, unless you count standing in front of a microwave waiting for my frozen beef burrito, and the door was closed the whole time.  Suit of armor?  No, unless you count the car.

            Mutation?

            That one made me think.  Normally, mutants develop their powers during adolescence.  Those mutated after that time usually become malformed or don't live long.  Gee, THAT was a comforting thought.

            There was only one way to find out.

            I went to the lab and took a blood sample, then ran it through the baseline tests to check for the genetic X-factor that existed in all of Marvel's mutants.  I sat back to wait, but I didn't need to wait long.

            According to the test...I was X-factor positive.  But _how?_  I was a Writer!  Writers, Characters, Crew, nobody entering the Experience changes on the genetic level.  Any and all powers are Assigned to them, and they are accessible immediately upon entry.

            I ran the check again, and then a third time as I tried to sort this out.  Could it be some latent genetic signature that only came out in the Experience?  The laws and rules of the Experience differed from those of the Sphere, but only by so much.  It could be, but it was such a long shot that winning the lottery three times in a row was a coin toss compared to these kinds of odds.  We were told in Orientation that it simply couldn't happen, that it never happened.

            I looked at the screens only to have the results confirmed twice over.  According to the computers, there was no doubt at all.  I was a bonafide, state-of-the-art, dyed-in-the-wool, card-carrying mutant superhuman.  As if life wasn't complicated enough.

            As the results scrolled across the screen, I suddenly realized:  mutants could be traced using Cerebro, the mutant-locating mainframe at the X-men mansion.  If anyone found out I was a mutant, I was boned for sure; they'd be able to locate me every time I stepped out of the car.  What was worse, if any Sentinels came into range...

            Those thoughts reminded me that I still needed to learn how to drive that car properly, now more than ever.  I sighed as I went back to the car.  To think I once yearned for the chance to drive a car like James Bond's vehicles...now, I'm weary just thinking about it.

            And the worst thing at all?  I have no idea exactly what my mutant abilities are!

            I looked up and wondered exactly when it was that the Universe first had it in for me.

            I woke up the next day and yawned.  I was finally stating to get the hang of driving the car, even managed to maintain a reasonable good score on the time trials.  There were even a couple of tracks where I didn't slam into any obstacles while driving through the course, something I considered a significant achievement.

            I decided to wait until after breakfast to enter the simulator, or, as I liked to call it, the Torture Chamber.  Nice bowl of cereal, milk, orange juice, and a little television to see what the morning traffic is like.

            I clicked the big monitor on and settled back to relax.  Maybe I'll pass on the Torture Chamber for a bit, start later in the morning...

            "...scene of chaos here in the Bronx as we have confirmed that a team of armed and armored vehicles have assaulted this section of town.  According to eyewitnesses, they attacked and captured the Black Cat, a well-known...."

            I spit out my orange juice.

            "...who was sighted in the area just a short time ago.  The vehicles, three aircraft and four ground vehicles, are now moving through town, too much for the local police to handle..."

            I switched off the TV and grabbed my pants.  Looks like the simulator just became a multimillion-dollar paperweight, because I just graduated.  "Loni, prep and arm for heavy duty.  I'm taking this bad dog out for a walk!"

            "+ACKNOWLEDGED,+" came the voice from the overhead speakers, and I pulled on a shirt and stuck my feet into my shoes.  So much for my hero costume:  blue jeans, cheap sneakers and a black T-shirt that said, "I See Dumb People" in white across the front.  Yep, I was stylin'.

            I ran to the garage bay and opened the side door.  It angled up like it was raising its hand and I slid into the leather crash seats, the five-point harness snaking over my body as I sat down.  I put the key into the ignition, took a deep breath, and then turned the engine over.  It came on with a throaty, almost sensual purring whine, cycling up to full power.

            "To those about to die, we salute you," I said to myself, then downshifted and hit the gas, just like I did in the simulator.  The car sprang forward like a pouncing panther, roaring up the chute towards street level.  The HUD came up, maps and alerts overlaid upon the windshield.  "Find the armored units," I commanded.  

            The artificial intelligence in the car replied in its female lilt, "+Working........subjects located, bearing zero-two-zero, distance seven-point-nine miles.+"

            "Plot intercept course."  I focused upon the road, recalling everything I learned in the simulator.  _Hang on, Felicia...I'm coming.  I just hope I don't kill us both..._  "See if you can tap into their communications."

            "+Attempting to do so.  Receiving encrypted burst transmissions between the air units and the ground units.  Attempting decryption, stand by.+"

            I checked the map as I tore through the streets, checking through my available weapons and defensive options.  _Please let her be in one of the ground units, God, that's all I ask._  

            "+Decryption complete.  Stand by for transmissions.+"

            I listened as new voices came over the radio.  "Kestrel Three to Road Lord One, come in."

            A voice that sounded oddly familiar came on. "This is Road Lord One, over."

            "We've received our orders.  We're assigned to bring the bag to the LZ by the water for marine transport.  The client will meet us in international waters and send us the coordinates when we set sail."

            "Good."

            "How's our guest?"

            "Giving me dirty looks as we speak."

            "Don't hurt her.  The client has specified that she not be harmed.  Any marks and the contract will be compromised."

            "Agreed.  ETA is twenty minutes."

            I heard everything I needed to.  "Isolate and identify 'Road Lord One' as IFF Track One."  I was starting to get angry at the thought of what might happen if they managed to escape.  "Open a channel to Track One.  Also, from this point on, modulate my voice to make it recognizable, but not as my own voice."

            "+Compliance.+"

            I took a breath.  "Road Lord One, this is the Switchblade.  I'm only going to tell you this once.  Release the Black Cat.  Quickly and safely.  If you do not release her in sixty seconds, I will use whatever force I see fit to make sure you never make it to the rendezvous point..._ever._"

            "Who the hell are you?"

            "I'm the one telling you to let the cat out of the bag, pal.  You now have forty seconds."

            "Sir, I've located the source of the rogue signal.  Silver custom job, half a klick behind you!"

            "Kestrel Group, this is Road Lord One.  Take that jackrabbit out."

            Here we go.  "Loni, activate SAM pods."  The helicopters rotated to home in on my position.  I thumbed the arming switch from SAFE to LIVE.  "Loni, activate ECM and jam their radio signals!"

            Kestrel One fired a salvo of chaingun fire and I watched as the bullets flattened themselves against the Switchblade's armor.  I locked on to Kestrel Three and fired, three small missiles lifting from the rear and streaking towards the Kestrel's engines.  Kestrel Three fired off a flare to confuse the missiles, but only one of the three fell for the ruse.  The other two slammed into the engines and blew the helicopter apart.  Kestrel One banked away and Kestrel Two angled downwards to get a better shot at me.  I pulled the wheel to the right, almost forgetting my lessons in the heat of my very first vehicular battle.  The building made excellent cover and Kestrel Two lost track of me for a moment until he followed me around the building.  I had expected him to come after me and I fired.  The combat computer had already acquired him and maintained a radar lock, and he cam around the corner to come face-to-face with three eager missiles.

            Kestrel One tried to regain contact, but the radio just blasted static at him.  I still had a lock on him, but I didn't have line-of-sight.  I knew he'd only need a few moments to re-orient himself and then he'd fire those anti-tank rockets tucked under the wings.  The car could handle bullets, but an anti-tank rocket would turn me into one crispy mutant.  I had to distract him.

            I pulled into the nearby parking garage and drove up to the third level.  According to the computer tracking system, he was almost directly in front of me.  I drove to the edge and slammed on the brakes.

            For one second, I _knew_ he saw me approach, but he was facing my right, looking for me at ground level.  Then he pulled the helicopter around, but I already had him and I fired the paint gun.  Three softball-sized pink projectiles fired from the roof-mounted turret, instantly giving the helicopter's front a thick, sticky coat of pink paint.  I pulled back and away before he could lock on to me and exited the garage the same way I came.  As I looked up to see the helicopter gaining altitude to keep from crashing into the side of a building, I thought of something I heard once before.  I couldn't resist.  I had to say it aloud.

            "Coats...soothes...relieves." I couldn't believe it.  It sounded so corny and yet felt so _right_ to say.  I think this reality is starting to grow on me.

            I took off in hot pursuit of Road Lord One, hate in my heart and vengeance on my mind.  He was halfway to the docks already, and I couldn't afford a protracted battle at this stage.  God only knew what plans they had for the Black Cat...

            Plans?

            I smacked my head with my hand.  Holy crow, I'd forgotten that I was in the Experience!  Some Writers must have planned this out already and some other superhero was supposed to rescue her.  I checked the scanners, looking around for any other heroes coming in to save the day.  Nothing yet.  Well, I was committed, and I needed an excuse to talk to Felicia.  I had some high apologizing to do and I didn't want to have to wait another month to do it.

            That's when I looked up and saw Road Lord Three bearing down on me from behind.  This is what happens when you get distracted.

            I felt the car shake as the semi slammed into me from behind, then snarled, "Loni, Acid Spray and Paint gun!"  The A.I. obediently dropped a copious amount of acid behind us and fired three balls of paint point-blank into Three's windshield.  I gunned the engine and pulled away as Three lost first his traction, then his wheels as he tried to turn.  Problem was, he was going too fast and instead of turning, he flipped and rolled behind me.  "Tough stuff, pal," I said and closed the distance between Road Lord One and myself.  "By the way," I radioed to him, "it's pretty much a given that your sixty seconds are up."

            "Hey!  If anyone's going to sling the fancy banter around here, it's gonna be me!"

            I looked up as a red-and-black suited figure dropped to the top of the van.  I blinked, "Deadpool??"

            "Hey, don't shout it out, or everybody'll want one!  Now, if you'll excuse me, Michael Knight, I'm going to carve this tin can open and serve me up some canned idiot.  Oh, I do hope they're fresh."  He drew his blades and plunged them into the roof, starting to carve himself an entrance into the passenger compartment.  As I watched, an alert came up on my HUD and I saw Road Lord Two coming at me from the left on a collision course at the intersection ahead.  I slammed on the brakes and Two did likewise, stopping right in front of me, just daring me to try and get past him.

            I was done fooling around.  "Loni, arm PBCs."  Two holes opened just under the headlights and steam vented from the sides as the particle-beam cannons warmed up.  He probably never realized he had gone from barricade to sitting duck in the space of a few seconds.  Twin battering rams of blue light streaked from the car and hit, blowing the truck to scrap.  I gunned the engine and took off once again, driving through the burning wreckage and bearing down on the remaining vehicle.  As I got closer, I saw Deadpool hanging from the rear edge of the truck as if trying to surf from the rear.  I don't know how he got involved, but I'll talk with him about it after I get Felicia out of there.

            I radioed Road Lord One.  "You seem to have run out of allies.  Still want to play this out?"

            "Sorry, Switchblade, but I've got a boat to catch.  Besides, how are you going to stop me?  I've got the Black Cat here, and if you try anything funny, I promise that I'll demonstrate just how many different ways one _can_ skin a Cat."

            I was running out of time and out of road, and my options were melting away before my eyes.  I had to have _something_ in this car that would even the odds!  "You seem to have left out one little detail."

            "And what, pray tell, is that?" Road Lord One said sneeringly.

            "There's a Deadpool on your roof."

            "Nice try.  I shook him off urk..."  That was the sound of Road Lord One's driver shuffling his mortal coil loose.  Knowing Deadpool, he probably killed the driver in some particularly flamboyant way while saying something truly witty...and long.  As much as Spider-Man tends to ramble on during combat, Deadpool makes Spidey look like a mime by comparison.

            I checked my speedometer and blinked.  The armored truck wasn't slowing down, and we were only a mile or so away from the docks!  "Loni, can you engage the truck's brakes from here?"

            "+I shall attempt to now...attempting connection with target system.+"

            I watched in horror as the truck started down the incline to the docks, starting to pick up speed.  I couldn't watch anymore.  I gunned the car forward, blowing past the truck, then getting directly in front of it, and then applying the brakes.  The truck slammed against my rear and my tires began to smoke as I tried to slow myself down.  "Loni, distance to water's edge!"

            "+Three point one miles.+"

            "At current speed, counting in forward motion and incline, how much road do we need?"

            "+Five point eight miles.+"

            "DAMMIT!!"  I thought fast.  "Loni, open the roof!  Continue on this course, applying the brake a much as possible.  Maintain your position in front of the truck!"

            "+Compliance.  What is your plan?+" 

            "I'm going after her!"  I pulled myself out of the car and looked at the truck.  I forced myself not to see how close the water was and carefully moved across the rear of the car.  I felt the car shift under me, and I realized the truck had a cowcatcher on it, forcing the rear of the car up.  That's why we weren't slowing down; the Switchblade could only use the traction of two tires to try to stop!

            I took a deep breath, and then jumped onto the front grill of the semi.  The metal was hot and I knew I screamed at least a little when I grabbed it, and I pulled myself up towards the window.  I felt and heard metal shrieking against metal and I suddenly realized that if the truck's wheels turned, the truck would flip, and I'd be an obituary waiting to happen.

            _Don't think about what you have to do and what might happen.  Just do it._

            I climbed across the grill, trying not to think about how much time I had left.  As I got to the door, I pulled it, hoping it wasn't locked.  The handle didn't pull up, the door didn't open.  Dammit, I was going to have to blow the door.

            I reached to my belt and unsnapped one of the pouches, taking out a small clay cube and a small box with two wires and a blasting cap attached to it.  It was simple enough rig: plant the charge, stick the pin in, back up about ten feet and push the ARM button, then the FIRE button.  Simple, right?

            Consider, then, how hard it is to get ten feet away when you're hanging onto a speeding truck.  I didn't have any choice except to plant the charge over the door handle, hang on to the box by hanging onto the wires with my teeth and crawl back to the middle of the grill.  I closed my eyes, turned my head away and blew the door.  Then I made the mistake of opening my eyes _before_ I turned my head back.

            If I was more than a mile from the edge of the water, I'm Greta Garbo.

            I pulled myself back towards the door, pulled myself in and sat behind the wheel, slamming on the brakes, hoping I still had enough room to stop.  I honked the horn as I drove over the sidewalk, dropping off the lip of the sidewalk and tearing through the chain-link fence.  I closed my eyes as the truck slowed, sent a few prayers up and I felt metal scraping against concrete, then a sensation of stopping as the scraping noise silenced.

            I didn't open my eyes for a second or two.  I was afraid to look.  Just how close to death was I?

            When I finally opened my eyes, all I could see at first was blue water.  I slowly raised my watch-comm to my mouth.  "Loni, report.  Did you just go into the water?"

            "+Negative.  I am currently utilizing the front grapple and I am located thirty feet behind your vehicle.+"

            I blinked.  Loni must've been pretty sophisticated to make that kind of move on her own.  Made me wonder why she suffered a driver at all.  "Is it safe for me to move?"

            "+Affirmative.  I have secured the vehicle.+"

            "Thanks, Loni.  I owe you one."   I got up and walked into the back of the cab, looking around.  "Cat?  Are you back here?  Come on, it's Doug.  Say something!"

            I heard moaning near the back and I looked around for a light switch.  I got to the back, then saw a shape in the back, moving closer.  "Cat, honey, come on, please be alright..."

            Then I was pushed back towards the front as Deadpool threw me to the front seats.  I felt the truck shift slightly and my heart tried to crawl up my windpipe.  "Where's the Cat?  What have you done with her?"

            "Well, I might've put her into about a hundred tuna cans, but I didn't."  I could tell Deadpool was enjoying this, even behind his mask. "I could've shot her into orbit on a chair powered by a million bottle rockets...do you have any idea how fast you have to be to light all those little fuses at once?"

            I didn't and dove out the door, hitting the concrete hard and yelling, "LONI, CUT THE CABLE!"  I pulled myself to my feet as the truck slid forward over the water.  Deadpool stood at the door, then jumped clear before the truck could tip and fall into the bay.  I backed up as Deadpool got to his feet.

            "Sorry, Snowman, but the Bandit already had his weekly bath."

            "If you've hurt the Black Cat, I swear to God I'll..."

            "Easy, hero, this was all a put-up job.  You're going to be a feature on America's Funniest Home Videos.  Heck, I could win the grand prize with your performance."

            "She was never in the truck?"

            "Nope.  She wasn't available, so we kinda have to have her off-camera, if you know what I mean."  He drew his swords.  "Sorry, pal, but I guess you'll just have to rely on the kindness of strangulation.  Or maybe we make some hero pate?"

            "I thought you were one of the Good Guys.  I thought you'd quit all this assassin-for-hire B.S. after that thing with Typhoid Mary."  _Keep him talking, just a little longer.  Shouldn't be too hard...I hope._

            "Well, we gotta have those little times in our lives when our choices are tested, and BOY HOWDY, was I ever tested.  I was given ludicrous amounts of money to take you out, off the books.  Hey, baby needs a new sixty-three inch plasma TV.  Now look, don't take it personally.  It's just a job."

            "Well, Deadpool, I'm glad you feel that way."

            Deadpool blinked.  "You do?  Gee, you're the first person to ever buy that."

            "Not that.  I'm glad you're not thinking this is a personal thing."

            "And why is that?"

            "Well, I wouldn't want you to get sore at me when I escaped."

            "Boy.  I'm downright flabbergasted.  I am humbled at this very moment in the face of such unbelievable optimism.  After this is over, I may have to go to home and have a good hard cry."  Deadpool's voice was calmly sarcastic.  "Any last words?"

            "Yeah, just two."

            "And here I thought that you'd use more words than THAT to be for your life.  Okay, Fat Lady, you're on."

            "Ready?"

            "Lay it on me."

            "Paint gun."

            Now, for those of you who don't completely understand the concept of what a paint gun is, a brief lesson in Exotic Vehicular Weapons 101.  The paint gun works on the exact same principles as your average handheld paintball gun.  Air, usually compressed carbon dioxide, is forced through a tube to project a small ball made up of a supply of colored paint and a plasticine compound that surrounds and contains the paint.

            With me so far?  Good, because here's where we get to the fun part of our lesson.

            The paintball travels the distance from the gun to its target, where the ball breaks apart on impact.  Now, keep in mind the physics of this.  The ball must be capable of traveling a significant distance.  The air pressure involved must be strong enough to propel the ball this distance.  The plasticine compound must be sturdy enough to keep the paint inside during the whole firing and travel part of its existence.  The ball must also travel with enough force to break apart with a blast radius to cover an area the size of a small teacup saucer.

            And you're asking right now, "Are you picking up Deadpool's bad habits?  Why are you telling us all this?"

            Good.  You're still listening.  Now we're at the part where this saves my bacon.

            Imagine a paintball that carries nearly a gallon of paint.  Imagine how much a gallon of paint weighs.  Imagine how fast it has to be to cross sizable distances.  Imagine how hard it has to hit to cover the space of a windshield.  Imagine how sturdy the plasticine compound has to be.

            Imagine what it can do to the human body if fired from twenty feet away.

            Deadpool's body rocketed to the right as a small basketball filled with thick liquid nailed him in the side, probably breaking a few ribs in the process, then the ball exploded all over him, covering him in pink paint as he was catapulted into the water.  I didn't want to hang around longer than necessary and I ran for the Switchblade.  The driver's side door opened obediently and I got in.  "Thanks, Loni.  That's two I owe you."

            "+I'm glad I could be of assistance.+"

            "The Black Cat wasn't in there, Loni.  It was a setup from the git-go to lure me out, which means they probably have the real Black Cat tucked away somewhere."

            "+Unless they believed you would be unable to appropriately deal with the armed and armored vehicles, let alone a skilled assassin like Deadpool.+"

            "Speaking of which, let's get out of here.  That healing factor he 'borrowed' from Wolverine is going to help him spring back, and I don't want to be around here when he does.  Can we be traced at this stage?"

            I put the Switchblade into gear and pulled out as Loni said, "+Negative.  The Switchblade is designed to be invisible to all tracking systems known, and can even turn invisible to anything able to view the visible light spectrum.+"

            "Good.  Can you run a check to see if we can locate the Black Cat's current location?"

            "+Yes, given time.+"

            "Do it.  I have to see her."

            "+Do you have feelings for this woman?+"

            I blinked.  Twice.  "Loni, are you asking me if I love her?"

            "+I suppose I am.+"

            _Geez, artificial intelligence, nothing.  This is an artificial personality…_  "Well, I don't really know how I feel about her.  I only know that she means a lot to me and I hurt her feelings, and that makes me feel really guilty.  I don't have a lot of friends right now."

            "+Am I your friend?+"

            I had to smile.  "Yes, Loni, I'd like us to be friends."

            Loni was silent for a while, and for a moment, I wondered if I'd said something that confused her programming.  Then she said, "+I have found the Black Cat.+"

            "Are you sure?  People have been giving us the runaround lately."

            "+The Black Cat is currently in the Walford Hotel, Room 2208.  The room is registered to a Felicia Hardy, suggesting that the Black Cat is Felicia Hardy, or that the Black Cat is waiting for Felicia Hardy to return to the room.+"

            I sighed.  "Get us there.  As soon as whoever bankrolled this mess realizes that I had better help than they thought, they're sure to go after her next."

            "+You got it.+"

            I drove away quickly and relied upon the Switchblade's ability to move away without being detected.  I probably shouldn't have; God knows everything else was suspect.  As it turned out, though, I didn't need to worry.  There was no firefight in the lobby, no teams of men and women in combat armor heading up the stairs. 

            As I got to the door and knocked, it suddenly occurred to me that I should have something to say to her when she opened the door.  Funny how some people don't come up with useful tidbits like that until they're a second away from the events that make those tidbits useful.

            "Who is it?" came her voice from behind the door.

            "Uhm...candygram?" I said hopefully.

            There was some sounds of movement behind the door, then the door opened and a bare arm grabbed me and pulled me inside.  I spun around and then she kissed me and I felt my brain shut down for a bit.  I was caught completely off guard and I had no idea how to respond.  Then I felt her lips pull away and then she slapped me.  HARD.

            Okay, now I was in more familiar territory.

            "You son of a bitch!  Do you have any idea how worried I was? The base gets bombed, Magneto's gone, there's no trace of you, no calls, no e-mail, no letters, nothing for _weeks!!_  Then you show up at my door with a 'Room Service'...!"

            "Cat, unless you haven't been paying attention, _people are trying to kill me!_"

            "I know how they feel!!  You've been back here for two minutes and _I _want you dead!"

            "Look, Felicia, please, just hear me out, okay?"

            She crossed her arms and studied me with a glare that could only be described as murderous.

            I told her the whole story, from start to finish.  The exploding Jean Grey, Magneto ditching me (there was a nice way to put it?), finding the Switchblade, the weeks of training, nervousness, worrying about whether she was alive or dead, the Commute From Hell, my little tête-à-tête with Deadpool and his new paint job, and coming to find her so I could apologize.  It took me a while to explain all the details, but her expression didn't change one bit during the explanation.  "…and that's how it happened, and that's why I'm here."

            "Well?"

            "What?"

            "The aforementioned apology, you dimwit?"

            "Oh…right.  Felicia, I'm really sorry about what I said back at the base, and I didn't mean to freak out.  I just…I made a mistake.  I thought your intentions were, well…"

            "…were…?"

            Of all the times for Felicia to really want to know what I was thinking.  "…less than honorable."

            "Because of the website?"

            "Yeah, because of the website."  Felicia continued to look at me with that look that made me want to look down again.  "Look, you went from telling me you made yourself endure a horrible experience to talking about that site.  What was I supposed to think?"

            "You were supposed to hear me out."

            "Well, I'm sorry if my fragile male ego made me jumpy.  But you never asked me how I felt about being the subject of that site."

            "I could tell how you felt."

            "Really?  Since when did telepathy become one of your superpowers?"

            "Doug…!"

            "I'm serious!  You walked away because I made a mistake, because I assumed you thought a certain way about something.  Now you think you can do the same with me and it's all right?  Talk about double standards!"  As soon as the words left my lips, I knew I'd said the wrong thing.  I could see the way her face changed.  I didn't have anywhere else to go, though, except to tell her the truth.  I was hurt, couldn't she see that?  As I stood there, looking down, I heard her walk over to me and steeled myself for another slap.  Worse, her telling me to go.  I waited.

            "Doug…you're right.  I guess I could've picked a better way to tell you.  I just didn't think it would bother you."

            _Well, it does,_ I wanted to say, but I couldn't.  I just nodded.  "Look, Felicia…I care a lot about you.  I do.  I think I'm falling in love with you, but I've gotta know that it's a two-way street, here.  If you don't love me, as in _love_, not extreme like or looking to be in love, then we can't do this.  It's just going to end up hurting one or both of us."

            Felicia nodded, and then took my hand.  "I am in love with you, Doug.  I have been for a long time.  I wasn't sure before, but I am now."

            "Felicia…I had to put a stop to this conversation while it's going so well, but I need you to come with me.  You're not safe here.  Neither of us is.  Come with me."  Felicia nodded and left, the door closing behind us as we rappelled down using her cable.  As I looked at her, I smiled.

            For the first time in a very long time, I actually began to get the feeling that everything was going to be all right.

            Of course, that was before I saw the guys on the street below, aiming a rocket launcher at us…

            **TO BE CONTINUED…**


	6. Third Act Problems: Intermission

**Third Act Problems, Part 6: Intermission**

**By C. Mage**

**Felicia Hardy, aka the Black Cat:**

He looks so darn cute when he's asleep. Asleep and peaceful...well, more peaceful than lately. Considering what he's been going through, I can't even imagine what it's like for him, being on the outside, looking in for so long. Does he even know what he's messing with now? Can he wrap his mind around it?

The only thing I can think of that explains why he's been acting the way he has is that he doesn't know where he came from. Is that the price for being a Writer?

I wrap my arms around myself, fighting off a chill. And I thought I was screwed up.

I get up and walk to the kitchenette, making myself a bologna sandwich. As I take out the mustard, I think about Peter. Does he know I'm not around? I think he does, but knowing him, he's got bigger fish to fry. I catch myself smiling as I think about him. God, I loved him...and I still do, but not in any way I could consider healthy. Even when we were alone together, boy, all the times we made love...

Heck, who am I kidding? We were doing the _nasty_ every night.

But there was more to it, after all. I admit, I fell in love with Spider-Man, not Peter. He was just a little different in the suit, less inhibited, more reckless. Maybe that's why I wanted to see him in the suit more often than not. After a while, I grew to love Peter, but it wasn't the same thing. And now here I am, in the Underground, hanging out with a Writer on the run, and pushing thirty.

And the really twisted thing is, it's happening all over again. I can't look at him and say to myself, "I'm not falling in love with Doug," and not laugh at myself. He's not Peter. He'll never be Peter, but he has a lot of qualities I admire and respect. And, let's face it, saving my neck and my reputation certainly earned him a few brownie points. And, let's be real, girls, what could be more tempting than forbidden fruit? And he sure did shape up some after he came into the Experience...not that he wasn't easy on the eyes to begin with.

I can't believe this. I'm nervous around him. I was never nervous around a guy, not even Peter. Well, not like this.

The problem is, what's he going to do? He's now the wildest card in any deck you can dream up. If he still has his Writer abilities, he could be a god here. No, that can't be it. If he was still empowered, he could whistle up the person behind all this and be home before breakfast.

Unless the person running it is another Writer. I have heard so many rumors about the Agency, nothing would surprise me. But Writers as part of the Agency?

I needed answers, and staying in this room wasn't getting me any. I suited up and left a note for Dougie, then kissed him on the forehead, because, well...okay, girlfriends, what would you have done?

Besides, no knowing when he'll look this peaceful again. Best to take advantage of it now while it lasts.

I fired out my grapple line and swung out towards the East Side. As I swung past some of the buildings, I caught sight of some of the other citizens, if you could call them that. Many of the ones that lived here were twisted versions of the real thing, and it's always been a little nerve-wracking seeing yourself passed out in a pool of vomit...at least it did the first three times. After that, I built up a tolerance to it, but the feeling never goes away. Not really.

I crossed town to the docks district, then stopped on the roof at Third and Courtney. The person I wanted to talk to was a few floors down, and I'm sure he'd be glad to see me.

That's what bothered me.

"Well, well, well...if it wasn't one of the golden girls. What brings you to the sewer?" His fat face smiled at me.

"Hello, Farouhk...or do you just go by Shadow King now?"

"One of the benefits of being one of the near-dead here. Plenty of benefits." He gestured around to his personal harem, thirty or so superheroines and supervillainesses. I even saw two me's in the crowd, kneeling with collars around their necks. God, I hated being in this creep's presence, but he had answers. "And you can call me the Shadow King. What brings you to my humble abode?"

"I need answers."

"You could always pay the usual fee, you know."

I smiled charmingly at him. "I rather be eaten by rats."

"Fine, fine, be that way. You don't see them complaining, do you?"

"Don't see them jumping for joy, either. Let's cut the crap, all these girls are brainwashed, and you did the scrubbing yourself. Now, are you going to give me the answers I want, or am I going to have to talk to Dr. Strange? I'm sure he wouldn't mind having the extra juice. As I understand it, there's a turf war going on..."

"You've made your point, Miss Hardy. What do you need to know?"

"I want to know what Spheres have the least Agency influence and I want safe passage there for me and my partner."

"That's going to be expensive, Ms. Hardy. One pint."

"Don't get too greedy, Shadow King. Four ounces."

"I don't want those undead clowns from the Spawns ruining my business. One cup."

"Yeah, I can tell you're starving and destitute. Five ounces."

"Seven."

"Five."

"Six."

"Six and NO QUESTIONS ASKED." The Shadow King looked at me carefully. I smiled. "Strange'd do it for four."

"Very well."

"Two ounces up front, the rest when the info and the transport checks out."

"Deal." He turned to one of the Wonder Girls. "Get the syringe."

I headed back to the room. I don't think I'll tell Doug about the blood trade here, how valuable it is. I sure as hell don't want to worry him by telling him what _his_ blood might be worth here. After all, if a Character's blood can make the Underground citizens here more powerful, live longer, what could a Writer's blood do? Immortality? More power than even the real McCoys? Besides, with all these people trying to get to the top of the heap here, we're better off ignored.

I stop and sit down on the top of one of the roofs in the Central Area. Granted, rooftops seem to be as populated as the streets in this town, but this one seems vacant enough. I look out at the sky, wondering how far it went, wondering if it went all the way to the Other Side. Farouhk would do his part, I hoped, and then we could hide out for a while. And maybe then, I might be able to see more of Doug. A _lot_ more.

I caught myself smiling and licking my lips. Thinking about Doug like that...was that normal? Was I really so deprived for so long, spending so many nights alone after Peter and I split up? I closed my eyes, deciding to test this theory. _I love Doug._

I felt it, a deep hunger inside me. I pushed it further. _I want him...I need him...I need his touch..._

I had to open my eyes, let the glare of the sun distract me as I suddenly felt myself having thoughts about him, things I wanted to do to him, things I wanted him to do to me... I had to shake my head physically as every little fantasy I'd ever had came out, with Doug as the focus. This was nuts. I never even had those kinds of thoughts with Peter around? Was it a result of the feelings I had for him, or part of those mutant abilities he had yet to discover? God, if he was having those thoughs about me and he's turned into some kind of mentalist...!

No. It didn't feel artificial. And he would've had to be an expert in mental manipulation to give me artificial desires for him, and he doesn't even know if he has them. Plus, he's not that kind of guy.

That last thought took less convincing than the others. I started out for the room, wanting to get there before he woke up, wanting to tell him what I was feeling. I needed to know how he felt.

I needed...him. And I wasn't sure why.

**Douglas Jacobs**

My morning seemed to be going well, considering it started only five seconds ago.

At first, I thought I was still dreaming. I was holding Felicia in my arms, holding her close, and it didn't seem that strange to me that it was happening. I could feel how warm she was, and, for a little while, I wasn't missing Rogue. I wasn't thinking about that damn competition for the superheroines. I wasn't even worried about my life, for a change. I reached up to her so I could feel her hair, run my fingers through the strands...

And that's when I noticed it. At what point did she decide she wanted straight hair instead of curls...and her canines did seem a little long...

My eyes opened to see a raven-haired woman's face kissing mine, wearing a red one-piece bathing suit that looked an awful lot like JAYSUS!!!!

I pulled back, falling over the back of the sofa and nearly breaking my neck in the fall, banging my head on the floor. Vampirella perched her torso on the back of the sofa, looking down at me, her face suspiciously close to my crotch. "You know, if you'd asked me to do this, I probably would've said 'yes'."

I jerked back, re-orienting myself and standing up, suddenly very aware that I was only wearing my briefs and a T-shirt. As I pulled myself up and walked over to where my pants were, I saw her walking towards me. As my eyes cleared, I realized that if this wasn't the real deal, it was one of the official stand-ins. Usually, the denizens of this place looked too over-endowed to be the real deal. I reached down and grabbed the waist of my pants, suddenly finding one of the legs under a stiletto heel. "You mind? I'd like to get dressed."

"Alright. After all, it only means I get to undress you again." She licked her fangs.

"Sorry, 'darling', I have a headache. But I'll tell you what, we could do this later. How does June of 3016 AD sound?" I stuffed my feet into my pants. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. You're not exactly easy to find, you know. You have been keeping a low profile, you naughty boy."

"So take away my Good Conduct Medal." I wanted to put on my socks and shoes, but that would mean sitting down. Not a good idea at the moment. "How did you find me?"

"Well, I come down here from time to time, stay up on the dirt here in the industry. And what do I find but rumors of you showing up here, in the Underground. I didn't believe it at first, but oh, how I wanted to...so I came looking for you."

"You're a Character, you're not supposed to be here. You could get into a lot of trouble."

"Oooooooh, I could get into trouble. Maybe you'd better punish me for being such a bad girl..." She kept walking towards me, a sly smile on her face. "Is that what you'd like to do?"

"No, what I'd like to do right now is be able to leave unmolested." I backed up until I felt my back against a wall. Great. Where the hell was Felicia?!

"Now, don't be like that. We could have a lot of fun together...and I know you've got some deep, dark fantasies that most girls would never do. But what would scare them away...makes me _hot_. You become a little jaded, especially when you've been around as long as I have." She walked towards me and I found myself having to back up, move around to keep from being backed into a corner. "You know you want me, Mr. Jacobs. I've been the fantasy for a long time, and I know the effect I have on men."

"Uhm, remember, I have a headache...?"

"Trust me, I'm not going to touch your head." She walked closer, stalking me. "Not unless you tell me to..." Her walk slowed as she got close to me, but there was a quality in her eyes that I didn't like. There was something suspicious there, and I was getting desperate.

"Look, this isn't like you. I know you."

"You know me, all right. Now come over here...tell me what you want me to do, I'll do anything..." she said, a sligh drunken slur in her voice, high on God-only-knew what. A twinkle appeared in her eye. "Wait a minute, I know...you're the white knight type. You love rescuing the damsel in distress, riding to the rescue...we can play that out, if you want." She smiled, then moved to the sofa, putting her wrists together and looking at me pleadingly. "Please, Doug, get me out of here...the guards will be back any moment..."

That was it. I felt something snap in my head and I pointed my finger at her. "Dammit, Vampirella, STOP THAT!" I didn't know what I was doing or thinking, but I felt something in my head, a shudder that went through my body from my head, traveling through my outstretched arm and to the tip of my finger. Then it was gone and Vampirella looked confusedly at me.

Holy crap. I stopped it. I didn't know how, but I stopped her amorous attitude in its tracks. She got to her feet, then looked around at her surroundings. "What in the...where am I? How did I get here? What...?" She turned to look at me and Vampirella's eyes grew wide. She clapped her hands over her mouth in shock. "Oh my God, Doug, I'm so sorry."

"Easy does it. Just sit down."

"I remember...oh, dear Lord, I don't know what happened! I just..." She was starting to get a little frantic and she sat down. I was about to offer her a drink, then I remembered her usual diet and I changed my mind.

"Look, calm down. It's okay." I shook my head as I sat down next to her. "Just relax."

"Doug...what's going on? I heard about what happened to you and I had to find you. I wanted to help, but the more I looked for you, the more I started having these thoughts, these ideas. I wanted you and..." She blushed furiously. "Look, promise me you'll never tell another soul what I said."

"Even if I wanted to, who'd believe me?" I meant it as a joke, but she looked troubled. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

She looked extremely relieved, but still had all the traits of a scared rabbit. Not comforting from a vampire from another planet. "Doug, what in the hell is going on?"

"Ain't that the Question of the Hour? I hear the Agency is after me, not to mention every other female Character in the Spheres with a pulse and some that don't. It's like some kind of..." I stopped in horror as I realized what I was about to say.

"What? Some kind of what?"

".......some kind of Plotline. Vampi, you gotta get out of here. I don't know what I did and I don't know how long it's going to last."

She nodded as she stood up, beating feet for the door, then looked at me with an expression I couldn't identify. "Call me when this is all over," she said with a pensive frown, then left.

I watched her go. Suddenly this whole mess was starting to make sense. An ugly, twisted kind of sense. I considered telling Felicia when she got back, then wondered if she really needed to know that kind of information. Then Common Sense kicked in. I couldn't risk NOT telling her.

If I was right...and I prayed that I wasn't...this experience was going to bite me in the butt at the worst possible time.

I decided to test another theory I had. I walked over to the TV and pointed my finger at it. "On," I said, and thought at it, trying to will the electronic device to activate. No dice. I turned the TV on manually and pointed at it again, willing it to deactivate.

Different results. The TV shut down immediately as I felt a strange sensation go through my brain, as if a reverberating thrumm was echoing off the insides of my head. I felt slightly lightheaded and I sat down. I picked up the remote and clicked it to turn the TV back on. Still nothing. I checked every few minutes, but the TV wouldn't activate until twelve minutes later.

I walked around, testing other items, other effects. Water running, water boiling, can opener running, refrigerator cooling, even a bouncing rubber ball. I had to stop after a half-hour, feeling like I just ran a marathon, looking around the hotel room.

Almost everywhere I looked, something was frozen in process or in midair.

Alright...time to take a breather. I watched the objects until they started running again, timing them. After turning off the appliances and the faucets, I had a better idea of what was going on. And what I saw scared the hell out of me.

The door opened and I spun around to see the Black Cat enter. As soon as she saw me awake, she moved in quickly and shut the door. "Doug? Are you okay?"

"No...Felicia, we've got problems."

She listened as I described how my day went, how I woke up and who was here. I decided to leave out the finer points, but Felicia didn't need me to go into detail. She was angry at first, then calmed down as I told her about what I'd done to her and how she reacted. "So what you're saying is that the reason why you're so popular is because of the influence of something else?"

"Yeah...but I don't know for certain why." That felt like a half-truth, but until I knew how deep this went, I didn't want to spill too much about what I knew. As much as I hated to think about it, I couldn't trust Felicia with some details. For one thing, I didn't know if she was being controlled the same way, or in other ways. For all I knew, she was...

No. I'm not that paranoid. There's no way someone could've orchestrated her rape and problems with the express purpose of motivating me along this route. There was too much that could've gone wrong, too much that could've pushed me more one way or the other. Because if that was the case, then she...she really didn't love me at all.

Yeah, Doug, twist it in a little deeper, why don'tcha?

"Well, then, this will be good news, Doug. I got us a way out of here," she said, bringing me out of my reverie. "We've got a pass to go somewhere we can stretch our legs and have the privacy to relax."

"Where?"

She smiled. "The Disney Sphere."

I blinked. Twice. "Aren't the travel visas horribly hard to arrange ever since the Eisner Lockdown?"

"Normally, yes. However, I have an inside track. Now get packed, we have to be at the rendezvous point in an hour."

I nodded and went to go pack. Not difficult, since I barely unpacked. As I did, I caught Felicia looking at me strangely. "What's up?" I asked in what I hoped sounded like a carefree tone.

"Nothing, I just...Doug, can I ask you a serious question?"

"As if we can think of any humorous ones. Shoot."

"Doug...when this is all over, what are you going to do?"

I hadn't considered that. Most of my time was spent thinking about how to make it through the day. I though for a moment, then realized I knew exactly what I wanted. I just never dared voice the desire out loud. "I want to retire, find some place in the country, have a wife, maybe a couple of kids, nice house, car...nothing extravagant, just have some peace and quiet for a change." I sighed unhappily. "Like that's going to happen."

"Come on, Doug, have a little hope."

I stared at her. "Suddenly, a quote from an old adventure movie comes to mind. It went something like this: 'The only thing I can promise you is headaches for breakfast, peril for lunch, danger for supper and aggravation for sleep. Your vacations will last two minutes when you're not looking over your shoulder, and if you live to draw a pension, it'll be a _miracle._' Sound like anything familiar?"

"You're really cranky when you wake up, you know that?" Felicia smiled. "Come on, admit it, deep down, there's some part of you that's enjoying this."

"Just my closet masochism." I finished packing and closed my pack. "Let's go."

We drove out to the destination. I couldn't shake the feeling of dread at knowing more about what was going on. Ignorance may be bliss, but bliss does not necessarily walk hand-in-hand with survival. I tried not to look outside; some of the denizens of the Underground had no shame at all. I kept hearing a voice in my head, wondering what could be done to help these people. Then I realized the truth; there was nothing I could do. They'd never leave the Experience and the host bodies were likely now dependent upon the entities that inhabited and transformed them. It was easier to think of them as casualties of war, or victims of natural forces, like a hurricane or an earthquake.

It didn't help as much as I'd hoped.

I caught Felicia looking at me from time to time. Was she feeling what Vampirella was? If so, she must have reserves of willpower I didn't think she'd had. Either that, or...

I squashed that feeling immediately. I had enough to worry about.

I stopped the car and got out, looking at the limousine. It was rocking slightly. "Oh, great...everyone's getting laid but me," I commented sourly. "Felicia, who is this guy?"

"Don't worry about it," she said hastily, a little too hastily for my comfort.

"Trust me. I worry."

Before she could answer, the door opened and Ahmed Farouhk stepped out. He was fatter than I remembered, which didn't disguise my shock. "Holy hell...what are YOU doing here??"

"Well, well...Felicia, you didn't tell me that Doug was your companion. I should've charged more."

"Too bad, too late. Now show us the exit." Felicia was all business, and I felt a lot better knowing someone else was taking control of the situation. I didn't feel up to trying to manage the corpulent psionic.

"Very well. Right this way." He turned, the tassel on his fez swaying over the back of his white suit. As I walked past his limo, I looked inside. I couldn't help it. I had to know what had been going on in there, even if I thought I'd be struck blind for looking. I looked inside and saw two people: Kitty Pryde and Jubilee from the X-Men, their teenage incarnations. I saw the way they looked, the way they were (for lack of a better word) dressed...but most of all, I looked into their eyes. I felt their pain and their self-loathing. They wanted to die. If I'd suddenly tossed a pipe-bomb into that car, I was sure the last thing I'd see of them was a fight to see who'd leap on the explosive first.

I couldn't _wait_ to get out of the Underground. I never wanted to come here again.

"Here we are..." Farouhk stopped in front of a large door, colored in vivid hues, a stark difference from the dismal, cracked concrete around the wall where the door stood. I walked up to the door and took the handle. Before I could hear Farouhk's alarmed cry, I opened the door into...

...a calm, relatively harmless village.

I turned to Farouhk. "What's the problem?"

"Nothing, it's just...normally, one must knock on the door before it can be opened. The consequences for not knocking are quite _severe_." Suddenly, I was completely uninterested in what he meant by "severe." "You were rather lucky."

I looked over the village street to a large and rather recognizable castle. "Yes...very lucky," I mused aloud, then turned to the Black Cat. "Ladies' first?"

"Since when did I become a lady?" She smiled and walked through, and I gaped as her appearance changed. Her face was still very much the same, except she had a distinctly more cartoonish look to her. The Disney reality obviously didn't tolerate a rubber catsuit, since her clothes were now a flowing medieval gown, still black, with a cat's head brooch at her neck. Felicia looked up, her mask gone.

"Since now, apparently." I took a deep breath and walked through, feeling as if I was walking through a curtain. I looked down at myself. Same cartoonish look, only I was dressed in a formal outfit, halfway between medieval and Armani. A rapier hung on my hip. "Uh oh."

"Why, Dougie...you look like..."

"Don't say it!" I warned, but she continued on as if I'd remained silent.

"...Prince Charming."

"Ugh..." I shook my head. I looked behind me to see what I was going to do with the car, but apparently Loni was not about to be left behind. A magnificent Clydesdale mare stood behind us and I had to chuckle. "Only one horsepower now, eh, Loni?"

To my surprise, the horse said back in Loni's voice, "Don't you believe it, buster."

"Let's go." I had to shake my head as I took Loni's reins, walking through town, looking around. _Well, Doug, you've dodged murderous assassins, escaped from purgatory and have a hidden enemy stalking you. What are you going to do now that you've shaken off your pursuers? "I'm gonna hide out in Disneyland!" Oh man, I hate having an imagination like this..._

**Elsewhere...**

_He was clever, moving into the dual realms of Disney. It will be more difficult to find him there, and I cannot act through the usual channels. He has become a most entertaining quarry. His actions, however, have forced me to move up the timetable. I shall have to act._

_ Douglas Jacobs is now worth 500,000 points!!_

If the Entity could've grinned, it would have...

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	7. Third Act Problems: Mickey Mouse Operati...

**Third Act Problems: Mickey Mouse Operations**

**By C. Mage**

I had to gawk at the appearance of the world I'd found myself in...I mean, let's face it, how often do you find yourself in front of a castle roughly the size of Manhattan? It was all spires and ramparts, all in the fairy-tale motif that Walt, may he rest comfortably in his cryogenic chamber, made from a single Writer's career into one of the biggest Spheres in existence. His creations are known throughout the Spheres, and copied to a large degree. They have outlets leading directly from the Spheres to the Real World, once an impossibility.

Unfortunately, this isn't Walt's place anymore.

At some point about ten years ago, a schism grew within the fairytale land. The single, sole reality split apart in a massive earthquake, each subculture and reality splitting off into separate worlds of their own. Travel between those worlds was enabled using special types of spacecraft made out of a substance called "gummi". Silly as the name was, blocks of this gummi material made for excellent building material, able to maintain their shape and consistency, as well as their properties, not matter what reality they visited. Since each reality was designated Experience domain, any gummi transportation had to be done in secret. Only the main Characters were allowed to travel, and after they returned to the Experience, they slipped seamlessly back into their roles. Unlike the Experience I knew, however, moving back and forth came with a certain form of amnesia. Compulsory amnesia.

Also, like many realities, the Sphere had a light side...and a dark side. There was a curtain like a shimmering waterfall running the circumference around each world. "Neither side knows about the other. It's bizarre."

Black Cat looked up from her drink, a hot chocolate, and nodded as she licked her lip. Very catlike. "This place is not like the other Spheres. There are limits to what you can do here, especially on this side."

"Like what?" I reached for my coffee and had to remind myself that the hand reaching for the mug was mine. My appearance had changed, become more cartoonish, stylized.

"For one thing, no profanity. EVER."

"What happens if you do?"

"Don't ask. You don't want to know. To say the Park Rangers are 'vigilant' would be like saying Cinderella's castle over there is a 'building.' In other words…"

"Play nice. Got it." I sipped my coffee. "I gotta say, Cat, you turned out nice with the conversion." She had, too; her skintight outfit had transformed to a gown with a furred collar and front, fur-lined mask, elbow gloves and slippers, all in black satin. However, the conversion had deemed fit to take her moniker seriously; the gown she wore made allowances for her tail, black with a white tip. Her face hadn't changed, thankfully.

"At least you stayed human, Prince Charming. This tail keeps messing up my balance."

"Well, at least we won't be staying here for too long." I took another sip, then I noted her expression, her eyes looking away. "We ARE just staying here for a short time, right?"

"Actually…Fahrouk mentioned that it might be a good idea to lay low for a while. He says there's too much heat out on you right now."

"How long?"

"Six to eight…"

"Days?"

"No."

"Weeks?"

"…no."

"MONTHS? Are you f…are you kidding me?" Luckily, I caught myself in time before voicing what I really wanted to say. Exile was one thing, incarceration was another.

"Look, I don't like it either. But it's the best option out of a lot of bad ones."

I didn't like the way that sounded. But I knew that if I wanted any answers, I had to play this out. Even if it was a bad hand. "What are we going to do for all that time? I don't think they have a welfare system around here."

"That I've got covered. Fahrouk set us up with transfer visas. I used those to get us employed."

"As what?"

"Photographers."

I sighed. "I can just imagine. Alright, then. Do we have IDs as well?"

"Sure. Here's yours." She handed me a card and I looked it over, then up at her. "Have you even looked at the names?"

"Not yet, why?"

"Look what Fahrouk named me." I held up the card. "Edmond Dantes?"

"Well, you kinda look like an Ed…" She looked at hers. "Oh, NO. He didn't…!"

"What?" I plucked the card from her fingers and looked at it. Her name was Helen Dantes. I stared at it. I couldn't help it. I looked up slowly and smiled. "Well, dear…I guess this means we can have the honeymoon."

"I don't think you get it, sunshine. We can't, you know…do that here. We can kiss and snuggle, but anything more than that is forbidden. With a capital F."

"We can't…oh, this is getting better and better."

"Why, Eddie…I didn't realize this was so disappointing to you." She smiled.

Damn, damn, damn. "Well…uh…" I knew there was an intelligent reply in my brainpan somewhere. "Look, maybe we'd better get going and find out where we're going to be employed."

"Oooooh, clever way to change the subject. Come on, 'dear,' we've got to go grab our gear." She stood up and walked towards the main castle. I hated myself for watching her tail as closely as I did.

"Okay, something is up here."

"What do you mean?" 'Helen' asked as we walked down the hallway.

"That's the fifth Belle I've seen since I walked in here."

Felicia/Helen chuckled. "They keep more than a dozen on retainer for photo promotions. Same thing with the other Characters. They have what are known as 'Primes,' Characters that go through the actual Experiences, and then they have the 'Backups,' ones used for pictures and events around and outside the Spheres. We're going to a shoot with a Backup now. Apparently, they're putting out some new T-shirts and we're doing the photos."

"Alright. I guess it's because it's not what I'm used to. They do things a lot differently here."

We entered the assigned studio and there she was. Just like the others, she was a perfect copy of the original, flawlessly identical, in the blue peasant dress she usually wore. She was talking with one of the others, a manager of some sort. "How much longer are we going to have to do this? She's yelling at me on the phone and…" She turned as we entered and walked over. "I was wondering when you two were going to get here."

"We're kinda new here," I offered.

"Obviously." She collected herself. "The last photographer completely confused the lighting and the last shoot ended up making me look like Maleficent. Please tell me that you know what you're doing."

"We're experts, Miss Belle," Felicia said with a lot more confidence than she likely felt, considering that she knew nothing about cameras four hours ago. I knew about photography, and I had to teach her what I could to make sure she didn't trip over anything.

Belle looked me over and I suddenly got the uncomfortable feeling that she was sizing me up in ways that weren't professional. My fears were abated when she said coolly, "We'll see. Very well, let's waste no time. Set up and I'll go freshen up." She walked off to her dressing room and I sighed. I had a feeling that my childhood expectations were going to be taking some heavy hits. At least she wasn't lusting after me or trying to kill me. Right now, I'm not sure which would've scared me more.

_He believes himself safe._

_So far, the Plan has worked out well. My influence spreads even as we speak, measured, eventual. The Spheres fall under my sway without their knowledge as my power grows. The ones who truly run the Experiences are easily controlled, most by greed, the others by fear. They will not know the true nature until it is time._

_By that time, only one being will be able to thwart me, take back control, subvert and hinder me._

_Good._

_My Purpose will remain intact._

I woke up the next morning and looked in Felicia's direction. At least, I hoped it was her direction.

Even though our cover had us as man and wife, our accommodations had separate rooms and separate beds. It was a little infuriating, especially since I couldn't deny that I was falling for Felicia in a big way. I was still too nervous, though. It had been three weeks and I hadn't even so much as kissed her.

That was going to change tonight, though. Tonight I was going to ask her out to dinner. I'd set up the reservations and I'd even picked out some flowers for her. It was all going to go like clockwork. At least, that was the plan.

I showered and dressed, thinking about the events that had transpired since we first came here. We'd worked well together and Felicia had picked up the trade quickly. Our reputation for results had grown and we were in demand, to a degree. Belle was overjoyed at the results and she'd spread the word, even though the shoot was only for a picture of her thumbing to her side with the words, "I'm with the Beast" just below her. Soon, we were working on more aesthetic shoots, working with different layouts for T-shirts, posters and mass media commercials. We weren't a hit, but we were successful enough to allow us some luxury.

And, to my eternal relief, not one female subject had so much as made even the slightest of passes at me. I was feeling more normal by the day.

As I combed my hair and walked out the door, I found a letter in my mailbox. I opened it up and read it.

"Assignment: Aurora shoot at 3 pm. Studio 12C."

I folded up the paper and couldn't help but smile. It was going to be another great day.

I walked over to Felicia's room and was about to knock on the door when I saw an envelope taped to it. Curious, I opened it up and read the note inside.

"Hello, Doug! Hope I didn't spoil your day, but I just needed to let you know that a couple of people DEARLY want to talk with you. In fact, we requested that the Black Cat join us early, to make sure you came on time. High noon, buster, and don't be late. Otherwise, we might decide to explore the other possible ways there are to skin a Cat."

I felt a cold emptiness in the pit of my stomach. Even here, someone had found a way to get to me! I wanted to scream. I looked in the envelope and found a card inside. On one side, someone had written in purple crayon, "Dark Side, Maleficent's Lair." I turned the card over and my heart turned to ice.

The card was a playing card…a Joker.

I went back into my room quickly, before the shakes could set in completely. I'd heard about him, back when I first started. A version of the DC Sphere's Joker who completely embraced his role, becoming that which he was assigned and more. I'd heard horror stories about things he'd done in the Experience, things that had to be hushed up. It couldn't be this guy. Please, God, don't let it be him. Not with Felicia.

I checked my watch. Nine thirty-five. I had to hustle. I didn't dare not be on time.

Getting to the Dark Side was easy. The place was patrolled, but someone had been thoughtful enough to create a distraction for me at Checkpoint 11 that allowed me to sneak through the Veil. It was a weird sensation, like going through a waterfall, and then I was in.

Here, the rules had seriously changed.

The Dark Side, from what Felicia had told me, was a schism based upon dark desires, greed and cruelty. Here, the roles were twisted and reversed. Aladdin and Jasmine, for example, were an evil pair of terrorists who used the power of their Genie to oppress Agrabah. The only one trying to stop their reign was a freedom fighter named Jafar. Another example was the Bastion held by the Beast. On the Dark Side, the Beast never gained his humanity back and constantly abuses and hunts Belle through his castle.

Here…anything went.

I found a carriage willing to take me to Maleficent's Lair. I didn't even want to think about what Aurora and Prince Charming were in this place. With such pleasant thoughts to comfort me, the carriage dropped me off at the fairy palace of Maleficent. Supposedly, she was a force for good against a mean trio of fairies, and her home certainly looked formidable.

Of course, seeing her head mounted on a pole just to the right of the entrance didn't bode well. If the rules of this place were accurate, she'd regenerate in a few days, but it was still horrible to see...especially since I had a good idea how she had died.

Her face wore a rictus grin. Trademark Smilex victim.

Felicia was in here somewhere.

I walked through the front doors, noting that the Joker had seen fit to redecorate in wild hues of purple and pink and yellow. Smiley faces were painted everywhere, and even though the guards still had their helmets on, I knew that their prone corpses were grinning as well.

As I stepped to the middle of the foyer, I heard a voice, one straight out of my nightmares: "Don't you just LOVE what I've done with the place? Oh, do be honest. Be BRUTAL!"

It was at that point that I figured that I should've come up with some sort of plan before I got here. I debated playing along, but the Joker was completely unpredictable. Right now, being honest couldn't really make things worse. "Where's Felicia?"

"Now, now, my friend's got her occupied. In fact, any minute now, your little kitty is currently a few inches away from becoming canned cat food. So maybe you'd better not do anything rash." He came out, dressed as an old-fashioned medieval jester, complete with scepter. In true vanity, a small mock-up of his head was topping one end.

"How would you even know what rash is?" I had to keep him talking. He loved the sound of his own voice. "Sane and sensible isn't exactly your forte."

"Why be sane and normal? The world isn't. In a crazy world, being mad isn't that crazy, is it? Or maybe the world's sane, I'm sane and you're just crazy to think there's some meaning in it all." He started walking down the stairs.

"Why are you here, Joker? Bothering Batman wasn't good enough for you?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong, baiting the Bat is so much fun, but even after all this time, it gets dull. Then someone comes along and she tells me, 'Joker, there's something you've just GOT to meet. He just won't die and he's scared to death of you!' How could I possibly resist? After all, everyone needs a vacation…and what better place to go on vacation than Disney?" He stopped halfway down. "You are scared of me, aren't you? Oh, don't bother. I can tell. She told me all about you, how you've been petrified of me for years."

"She? She who? Who told you that?"

"Shhhhhhhhhhh…" He held up a finger in front of his lips. "You'll ruin the surprise."

At first, for a moment, I suspected Felicia. Hey, she was the only woman I knew who knew me that well. However, that thought went away as soon as I realized that I'd never told her about how the Joker scared me. Not once. I hated myself for suddenly doubting her, and that replaced some of my fear with anger…and kept going.

"Awwwwww, isn't that sweet? I always enjoyed the dawning sense of doubt in a person and the indignation of discovery." He swished his scepter through the air. "Well, as fun as this is, I have really been looking forward to killing you in a slow and decidedly humorous manner, and I have a dentist appointment at seven."

And that's when I found my voice. "Tell me something, Joker…when you go to the dentist for a cleaning, does he give you price for his services, or an estimate? Must be hard keeping those things clean without heavy equipment and a sandblaster."

The Joker stopped. "Well, well, the mouth that roared. Are you trying to keep up with me for witty remarks, all of a sudden?"

"Keep up with you? Oh, I'm sure I could find myself even with you in that kind of race…if I shifted into reverse."

The grin flickered. "Oh, FUN-ny guy."

"That makes ONE of us."

"Don't even TRY to match me gag for gag, you second-rater."

"The only way someone would associate your jokes with the word 'gag' would be in conjunction with the word 'reflex.' You've been wondering why you've been trying all these years to show people why they should be getting the joke, you've completely missed the reason why you have to try so hard to get people to laugh. You're not funny. You're a pathetic, tired, ninth-rate comedian who has to use Smilex to coax a smile of any kind out of your listeners." My words gained strength, but I'll be damned if I knew where that strength was coming from. "And you have been trying to get the Batman to laugh for years, but it never happens. And you can't figure out why? He's too smart for you. You have to make stupid people laugh at your jokes; what makes you think one of the greatest criminologists in existence would ever put his brain on the injured/reserve list long enough to let one of your jokes make him smile? Face it, Joker, he'll never chuckle at any of your jokes, for two reasons. Your jokes aren't funny…and you insult his intelligence by thinking that he might."

At that point, I realized the Joker wasn't smiling anymore. His face was twisted in a silent growl and his eyes were blazing. "YOU…LITTLE…PUNK…!"

I should've been scared. I should've been petrified. I sure as shootin' didn't expect to be looking at the Joker dead-on. But here I was, and instead of being afraid, all I could think of was how this miserable monster had kidnapped Felicia and done God-knows-what to her. "Come on, Joker. Let's see your A-list material. You've certainly waited long enough to use it. It's got to be in there somewhere, right? Don't tell me all the stuff you've ever done doesn't get any better…!" That's when he lunged at me, a six-inch blade coming from the jester's cap. I moved to the side and stepped back. "Just like your jokes, saw that coming miles away."

"When I'm through with you, you're going to spend the next five years begging me to kill you," he snarled, advancing on me.

"Why wait? After listening to your rotten jokes for twenty minutes, my brain would implode." I smiled. I was SMILING? "I've read telephone books that were funnier. I've laughed harder watching Jello harden. I've found doing my tax returns more amusing…"

He screeched and slashed at me, his anger coming to the fore as he pushed me back to the wall. I reached up and drew one of the swords from the displays on the wall and held it out. The Joker smiled as he stood where he was and aimed the tip of his scepter at me. "Don't be so sure about your so-called intelligence, Doug. After all, you just brought a knife to a gunfight." It took the time the Joker used to smile for me to realize what was going on and I reached out with my power, finding the mechanical potential of the trigger mechanism and hoping that I'd stopped it dead.

Then he pulled the trigger.

Click.

The Joker's eyes went wide and I slashed at the scepter, flicking it out of his hand. "Shooting blanks, Joker?" I watched as he reached into his pocket, seeing him shift his shoulders ever so slightly and I used my power again on his acid-spurting flower, effectively corking it. I watched his face as his trusty holdout weapon didn't work, then saw the effort on his face. I realized he was squeezing harder, hoping to clear what was blocking his weapon. "Where's Felicia, Joker?" I demanded.

"You should already know, Mr. Smug…you're neck deep in it." He smiled, then I saw his face change and he howled as a white mist came from his right pocket. The Joker had squeezed too hard and the bulb had burst, covering his hand and thigh with the acid in the reservoir. He took out his and watched as the flesh and muscle melted off…then he started to laugh. That maniac was laughing right through the pain. For all I knew, he was laughing because of it. His laughter grew louder and louder and I left him behind, running up the stairs. I didn't know who his supposed "friend" was, but after facing him down, I felt like I could do anything, felt like I could get through this and save Felicia.

"FELICIA!" I yelled. "WHERE ARE YOU?"

**_"SHE IS BEYOND YOUR REACH."_**__

I stopped as I reached the last twenty or so steps, looking up at the speaker. I took a step back. "No. It's not possible…what the hell are you doing HERE?"

The being walked towards me three steps, his hulking mass nearly taking up the breadth of the stairs. His gray skin and dark blue clothes were as simple as he was monstrous. His eyes burned with light as he regarded me. I realized what the Joker had been talking about.

Dark Side.

DARKSEID.

**_"I AM HERE BECAUSE OF YOU, INSECT. I AM HERE BECAUSE I DESIRE WHAT I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED. ASSOCIATING MYSELF WITH THAT PAINTED FOOL SERVED ITS PURPOSE, IT BROUGHT ME TO YOU. NOW YOU WILL GIVE ME WHAT I DESIRE MORE THAN ANYTHING IN THIS PITIFUL UNIVERSE."_**

"What are you talking about? Where's Felicia?"

**_"THE WOMAN?_****_ DEAD. BURNED TO ASHES BY MY OMEGA BEAMS. SHE WAS NOTHING, LESS THAN NOTHING. HER VOICE AND HER WHIMPERING ANNOYED ME."_**

"You're lying!" He HAD to be lying!

**_"WHAT REASON WOULD I NEED FOR SUCH PATHETIC EVASIONS? I FEAR NOTHING, LET ALONE THE TRUTH."_**

I looked at him, clenching my fists as he approached me. "You had better be lying, Darkseid, or so help me…!"

He backhanded me, sending me flying and tumbling down the stairs until I landed in a heap at the bottom. As I tried to pull myself together, I could hear him, walking down the stairs, step by step. **_"YOU WILL DO NOTHING EXCEPT AID ME IN FINDING THE ANTI-LIFE EQUATION, MORTAL. I HAVE LEARNED THAT YOU HAVE THE INFORMATION I SEEK. AND YOU WILL GIVE IT TO ME OR I WILL RIP THE SECRET FROM YOUR DEAD CARCASS."_**

I pulled myself to my feet, my ears ringing. I reached up to my throbbing head and felt wetness there. "Who told you…?"

**_"UNIMPORTANT AND IRRELEVANT._****_ YOU DO NOT KNOW SUCH A POWERFUL SOURCE AND I AM IMPATIENT."_** Darkseid reached the bottom of the stairs. **_"YOU WILL TELL ME. TELL ME WHAT I DESIRE TO KNOW…AND I GIVE YOU MY WORD THAT I WILL KILL YOU QUICKLY AND PAINLESSLY INSTEAD OF KEEP YOU IN ETERNAL AGONY."_**

I looked up at him. This was the man who killed Felicia. This was the guy who wanted to destroy everything. The last thing I wanted to do was give this guy anything that would help him. I focused on his eyes. The only hope I had now was to try to use my "switch" ability on him and pray that I had enough to keep his Omega Beams from killing me outright. I got to my feet and backed away, pointing at him and hitting his eyes with everything I had left.

The effect was more than a little unexpected.

Darkseid's eyes closed as he staggered back a few feet. He shook his head and looked at me with a cruel coldness. **_"IS THAT YOUR BEST, MORTAL?"_** He laughed, then he gazed at me for a long time, then blinked. He cocked his head forward slightly and stared at me and I realized that he was trying to use his Omega Beams on me. At the same time, I felt my eyes watering and I rubbed them; the last thing I needed was to be blinded while trying to keep from being pulverized by this guy. I pulled my hands away and saw redness there.

Dear Lord, what was going on? What had I done to myself by using my power on Darkseid? Brain hemorrhage? Did I just blow a fuse in my brain and not feel it? I closed my eyes to clear them again and when I looked up, Darkseid's fist was right in front of my face. I felt the punch, my head snapping to one side, pinpricks of light in my vision. I tried to roll away.

**_"I DO NOT NEED MY OMEGA BEAMS TO DESTROY YOU. ALL I NEED ARE MY BARE HANDS!"_** He sounded truly hacked off that I'd shut off his weapon-of-choice. Great. All I did was make him mad.

That's when I felt it in the back of my head. A burning sensation, starting with a tickle and growing stronger and stronger. It felt like an inferno growing in my skull. I squeezed my eyes shut in pain. This was it. Swan Song City. I overtaxed my power somehow and my brain was about to blow sky-high.

I was going to die.

Something took hold of me at that point. Deep down, some force took hold of me, pushing its way to the surface, a power that would not be denied. It filled my skull with a white-hot radiance and I knew what I had to do.

I was about to die…but I WAS NOT GOING TO LET DARKSEID WIN!

I opened my eyes and looked right into Darkseid's face.

I could only imagine, later on, what Darkseid must've have felt at that moment. His prey, bruised and bleeding. Darkseid moving in for the crushing blow that would knock me for a loop, helpless to stop him from doing whatever he wanted to do with my brain. Cocking his hand back, the victorious grin on his face as I opened my eyes to look up at him…and finding my eyes glowing the same color of unholy light his Omega Beams used. The look of surprise as I fired his Omega Beams right from my eyes into his face. The darkness that claimed him.

All I knew is that everything went incredibly bright for a full twenty seconds, then the light went away and I could see again. I saw Darkseid laying on the floor, his face nearly cooked off, but he was still alive. He was going to be on convalescent time for a while, that was for certain. I ran up the stairs and looked into the room where Darkseid had come from.

All I could find were broken furniture and a large scorched mark where a figure used to be. I knelt down at the side of the burn. This couldn't be. I found her, realized I was in love with her, only to have her taken away?

It couldn't be.

It wasn't right!

IT WASN'T FAIR!

I pulled myself to my feet, swaying slightly. Shouldn't I have felt something? That moment where she was taken away forever, shouldn't I have felt some disturbance in my heart, some knowledge that she was gone? If I'd been writing this, then I would've…

I stopped as I looked around. I had to get out of here. They found me here before, I had to escape. I had to reason this out. I needed some time to think. I needed some sort of stronghold.

I looked back towards the entrance.

I knew exactly where to go.

_The Plan was becoming more and more interesting._

_It was expected that the Catalyst would become involved, but not so was the option that both Darkseid and the Joker would be defeated. The power the Catalyst has was not factored in, but there was no reason to worry. Such factors inevitably arose during the course of the equation. It was good the factor had appeared before the final act. _

_The Black Cat was not dead. She was safe, her mind enslaved and forced to submit. How her mind screamed back as she was forced to come here, to the Central Hub, where the final act would be played out. The Catalyst would be forced to choose the only two options available._

_1. __Fight and become the crusader he was made to be, allowing for acceptable losses and continuing with the Plan as directed. The Black Cat's presence made this option thirty-eight percent more likely._

_2. __Flee and escape into the Spheres. He would undoubtedly find other loves, other trials as he attempted to find a way to fight the control of the minds of all the Spheres' inhabitants. Such was the way of heroes._

_ Either a great hero or a tragic one. Either way, the Plan would move on, and this particular Storyline would continue. The balance would be pursued. Losses would undoubtedly result, but it could not be helped._

_ Without the Plan, there was no possible existence._

_ The Catalyst was getting closer. His presence could now be sensed across the Spheres._

_ It was only a matter of time now._

**TO BE CONCLUDED…**


	8. Third Act Problems: Deus Ex Machina

**Third Act Problems, Part VIII: Deus Ex Machina**

**By C. Mage**

I exited the portal and looked around. As I suspected, the place was nearly deserted. This part of the Experience had been called Marvel 2099, and for a time, was one busy place. Now, the world was all but shut down. The Sets were still in place, but the world was one big ghost town.

But the Sets still had power.

I traveled down towards the main headquarters for the company D/Monix, finding that their equipment was still pristine, if a bit dusty. I brought their systems up just enough to raise the passive sensor arrays, then went to the mainframe.

The D/Monix mainframe had massive resources. It was hooked into communication nets all over the world, but the main feature I was looking for was located at the mainframe core, a direct line to the Matrix Organization Resource for Information Gathering, Access and Nexus Control. MORRIGAN Control used to be the core unit of the Spheres' organization, specifically towards making sure all the resources and power went to the right areas. It performed so efficiently that the Spheres' Creators began to give it more to do and more power to do it. MORRIGAN Control became the hub that kept everything in check, and as the Spheres grew and multiplied, MORRIGAN Control was vital in keeping the Experiences in the separate Spheres from collapsing altogether.

And to do that, direct lines had to be maintained to MORRIGAN Control at all times.

What did that have to do with me? Hang on, I'm getting there.

To be able to cause this kind of chaos, the Agency has to be able to move the resources it needs to hassle me through MORRIGAN Control. And that leaves records. If I can find those records, I can find out who's been screwing with my life and laying waste to everyone around me. I owed it to Felicia to find out.

But first, I had to make sure I wasn't going to end up jumping out of the frying pan. And for that, I needed to gain access to some of the tech here. I needed a smokescreen…and an army. The smokescreen was easy enough to fix. All I needed to do was remotely activate the functions of the different powers on this world. Many of the defensive systems were automated. All I needed to do was figure out how to remote-activate the major players of this place simultaneously. I knew I'd be discovered eventually, but if I turn everything on at once, the Agency will waste time and resources playing the biggest shell game in known history. While that's going on, I'll need to do something even more difficult…I would have to penetrate the castle of one of the most dangerous villains in this reality without dying and find a weapon system that would keep me alive long enough to meet the ones in charge of the Agency.

Sure. Piece of cake.

I exited the car and looked up at the castle. Latveria was grayer and more dismal than I expected, but then, a hundred years of pollution can make a lot of difference. The people in the towns below had been all but shadows, ghosts in the Experience, filler material left on autopilot. They went along on pre-programmed patterns, oblivious to everything.

Fortunately, the hardware of this world was still solid. It took me very little time to make my way across the Atlantic; everything was computerized and automated. All I had to do was hitch a ride on a transatlantic flight.

Getting into Latveria was harder. I landed in Germany and had to borrow a car, and the weather was pretty foul getting there...snow, sleet, slush, the works. Once I got there, it was easier, but only in the same way that balancing nine spinning plates is easier than balancing ten spinning plates. I had to find a map to take me up the mountain, make my way up the treacherous, icy road...and now, walk into Castle Von Doom.

I didn't expect guards to be active, but the doors and locks were in place. I looked up at the sheer face of the castle and sighed. Looks like I was going to have to see if my power would work on the doors. I walked up carefully, avoiding the mines and moving past the point-defense systems, up to the large main doors of the castle. As I looked at the keypad and pointed at it, I willed it to disengage the locks.

Right on cue, the bolts released and the doors opened outwards. I had to smile. I was really enjoying myself, having a real power for a change. No wonder Superman was always smiling.

The control room was exactly how I pictured it: big, overblown and with a HUGE screen on the front wall. I noted with some satisfaction that it was a widescreen format monitor. "Now I know why Doom likes this place...he could watch every football game on the planet from here at the same time. 'Flunky Number Seven, pull up the Knicks game.' Supervillains get all the perks." I heard my voice echo eerily off the silent walls of the chamber and I shivered. It was like walking through a ghost town, only it was a ghost world...and there was no Scarlett Johannsen to keep me company.

I walked to the main console, then followed the cables to the main junction box. I opened the box and primed the starter charge, then held my finger over the PUSH TO CLOSE button. I took a deep breath. I didn't know how long it would take the Agency to locate me once I turned the power on. They'd have to locate the source of the power surge, find out which Sphere it was on, but once they found the Sphere, my location would stick out like Wolverine's claws. I'd have only a limited amount of time to make the connection to MORRIGAN Control and link my way through. I'd have to power up the Castle, figure out the system, bring the defenses online, and figure out how to link to MORRIGAN before I get overrun by whatever the Agency sees fit to throw at me.

Piece of cake.

I took a deep breath, then pushed the button.

_The signal has arrived at last. He is in one of the defunct Spheres, apparently trying to contact MORRIGAN Control before his position is overrun. According to the analysis of his location, he is sequestered in a well-defended area. It is likely that he will be able to make the link before long. It will take time, however. I shall have to ensure that his wait is not a boring one._

_ He's too close to foul up the Plan now._

I got the notification thirty minutes after I began the code search.

The defense computer identified the threats immediately. Nothing less than the worst...HYDRA. And just my luck, they've got all the newest toys. Assault on the outer perimeter...point-defense guns are keeping them pinned down, but it won't be long before...

Geez. Fearmaster and Multi-Fractor. The predator-constructs from GHOST RIDER 2099. The Freakshow...even the clones of the X-Men 2099 they prepared just before the Sphere was discontinued. Somebody up there must really hate me.

I turned the defense computer all the way up to Threat: Maximum and turned my attentions to the linkage. The code was encrypted, so I had to unscramble the signal. I racked by brain to remember the linkage code, but the sounds of the firepower being employed outside was distracting. As I tried to think, a klaxon went off as I was kindly notified that the outer defenses had been breached. Dammit, thought it'd hold them off for another seven minutes!

I had to work faster.

I finally remembered the code and tapped it in, signing on with my primary access...my cover was blown anyways, so it didn't matter if I sent up a flare now. The connection began, and a countdown timer appeared on the big screen in front of me.

TIME TO DECRYPTION AND CONNECTION: 39 MINUTES, 12 SECONDS AND COUNTING.

You gotta be kidding me! I wanted to scream, but I was committed now. I knew the defenses wouldn't hold them off for that long.

Unless I turned the odds in my favor.

I looked over at the table to the side, the one I'd avoided. The table with the DOOM 2099 armor lain across the flat metal. Mocking me. Telling me something I didn't want to hear.

_Put me on, big boy, and let's motorvate._

No. I was not that desperate.

Deep in my mind, a little voice told me, _Not__ yet._

37:44

Only a couple of minutes have passed, but it felt like weeks. I watched as the main fence came down, troop after troop after troop of HYDRA men moving over the grounds like army ants, overwhelming the outer defenses by sheer numbers alone. Crystalin and Bloodwing were making short work of the other defenses on the grounds, but they had yet to breach the main force shields. I still had time left.

I looked over at the DOOM armor. It was starting to look like a good idea right about now, and that worried me. I knew well that the armor would cause me serious pain and trauma, since it wasn't designed to just "come off". I put it on, and I'm in it permanently...unless it comes off once I leave the Experience. But I'm on borrowed time as it is. I leave, I end up with the same injuries I did when I entered. And I was in mortal pain when it happened, which meant I could die if I left.

I looked at the monitors again. The shields were taking a serious beating, and since no one was at Engineering to adjust or repair the shields, there was nothing I could do to prolong the shields' life.

32:10

I ran to the roof, noting a chute from there to the control room. That helped. I could get down in a hurry in an emergency. Then I stopped myself. I was already _having_ an emergency.

I got to the balcony as the shields began to fail. The monitors on the balcony appeared just as I reached the top, showing the status and location of every super trying to kick my ass. Two of the X-Men were down, not a sight I was looking forward to seeing. Skullfire was down, and Serpentina was out as well. Xian was looking as hostile as ever.

This was getting hopeless. I had to have line-of-sight on my enemies to use my power, and they were too far away or under cover to see, much less aim at...

I pointed my finger at one of the muscles of the group, Junkpile, impotently aiming at the image on the screen and...

The familiar _NG NG NG NG ng ng ng ng_ feeling went through my brain and I watched as the chunk of wall he was lifting suddenly became much too heavy for him. I saw him fall down, then looked at my hands.

I _did_ have line-of-sight!

I found as many of the supers as I could, remembering their primary powers, disabling them in turn for a short time. Guess line of sight includes cameras...which meant that my chances just got better. Not by much, since I was still outnumbered a thousand-to-one, but I had a...

I heard an explosion and jumped. Geez, what was that? I looked down toward the front gate as Shakti and Multi-Fractor led a group of men to the front doors. Engineers. That meant if they couldn't hack their way in through the security systems, they'd blow the doors open.

I'm going to have to lock down the whole castle. That'll slow them down...I hope.

23:33

I ran down the stairs and told the computer to lock every door and window in the place. I double checked the decryption progress and wanted to cry. Not even half done!

I went to another console and looked over the equipment stores. There had to be something I could use to slow them down. Lessee...food...machine parts...

I stopped as I saw a large container on the list. Ball bearings. It was so crazy...but it could work! I contacted the maintenance robots and started feeding them new marching orders. I switched on the internal cameras to see the robots loading the steel spheres into hoppers and buckets. I crossed my fingers as the robots began to pour the ball bearings into the air shafts and dispersing them all over the complex.

As the last few containers were emptied, the front doors vanished in a massive explosion that caused the castle to tremble for a few moments. As the HYDRA men entered, I had the rare laugh as I saw them transform from the HYDRA Elite into the Keystone Cops as they started tripping all over themselves, their guns going off in wild directions. I kept my eyes on the group as they decided to split their forces to search for me.

Good...that meant they'd have to run the gauntlet at a fraction of their total strength. Didn't take much to slow them down…just plenty of balls.

8:02

I waited until the groups were well into the hallways before slamming the lids on their coffins, so to speak, locking down the hallways by lowering sliding walls that turned the hallways into a collection of cells. The cells were close enough together to discourage the use of explosives to release them, so I bought myself some...

A crash brought my attention to the floors above me. So much for my breathing room. The HYDRAS were just a diversionary tactic. The real threat was coming through my freaking roof.

It was at that moment that I realized that I would never make a good villain. If I had to deal with these kinds of problems when trying to take over the world, I would've retired long before I could succeed. It just wasn't worth the headaches.

I checked the progress on the decryption. Ninety percent done. Only a few minutes remained. I couldn't get the armor on in time even if I wanted to use it now. Cybernetic and bionic enhancements, the thing was the most powerful suit of powered armor ever made.

Wait a minute...that's it! POWERED armor!

I tapped into the robot control array and scanned for a telemetry reading on the armor. If the telemetry transponder was giving off a powerful enough signal, I could run it by remote...I just need to log in, check for a signal...

I turned and watched the armor sit up, then get off the table.

YES! Alright, now let's see...ID me as friendly...access autonomous battle subroutines...come on, come on, I can hear them beating at the door...!

I hit the EXECUTE key and the DOOM armor flared into life, spinning towards the door. I adjusted the throat-mike and spoke, "Testing, one, two, three," to be rewarded by hearing my words come out of the armor's synthesizer. I moved behind the console and hid just in time, as the supers broke through the doors. I couldn't see their faces, nut as soon as I had the armor yell, "I AM DOOM!", they performed just as expected, laying into the armor with full force.

00:27

_I know we haven't been exactly on the best of terms, God, and I have probably taken your Name in vain a few times...but I'm in a real jam down here. I need your help. Can you just keep me alive long enough to stop what's going on here?_

00:14

_I lost Felicia to this thing, to whoever did this. I lost her just when I realized that I loved her._

00:06

I felt the floor shudder as something exploded...the DOOM armor was gone. They'd taken it out and I didn't have anything left but an escape route.

00:02

_Please God, don't let me die._

00:00

The console blinked and the touchscreen cleared, revealing the message:

CONNECTION TO MORRIGAN CONTROL COMPLETE. PLEASE PRESS TOUCHSCREEN TO OPEN PORTAL.

The supers turned to look as the console beeped. I stood up and reached over the back of the screen, slapping it. Time slowed to a snail's run as the supers looked at me, turning to face me, aiming at me as a blue disc of energy appeared ten feet away.

I turned towards the disc and ran.

The supers hit me with everything they had.

Blackness.

I woke up in serious pain. My back felt like it had been deep-fried. My stomach felt like I'd had barbed wire for lunch and a sulfuric acid chaser. My limbs were made of lead. Breathing was agony.

But I was breathing.

I opened my eyes. It hurt opening them, but the whole moaning in pain was something I'd done already and I needed variety in my life. I squinted, forcing my vision to clear. I was on a catwalk over a large chasm. The walls, ceiling and center column were constructed of massive computer hardware. The entire structure was one large computer, and I was inside it.

I was inside MORRIGAN Control.

I limped across the catwalk, then passed by a reflective panel and looked at myself. Yep. Back to original, boring me, slight paunch, powerless and normal.

If moving didn't hurt so much, I'd dance a jig.

I came to the end of the catwalk and found myself in front of a huge bank of monitors, each with a different display, barely any of it recognizable. A single keyboard and microphone rested on a small platform, the only manual input available in the entire complex. An old chair sat in front of it, a thin layer of dust covering it. I walked to the chair, sat down, and typed:

ARE YOU EQUIPPED TO ACCEPT VOICE INPUT/OUTPUT?

I hit ENTER and was rewarded with a feminine voice. _"I am so equipped. Welcome to my heart, Douglas Jacobs."_

I leaned back in the chair. "Are you aware of the troubles that seem to follow me everywhere?"

_"Yes,"_ she said comfortingly.

"Is the Agency behind it all?"

_"Yes."_

"Why has the Agency targeted me for destruction and totally screwing up my life?"

_"That is a long story."_

I reached down and felt my side. It hurt. "I don't think I'll be jogging anywhere."

_"The Agency was created to stop a growing acquisition of power by a League of Writers who saw the plot in motion in subtle ways. However, one of those Writers became greedy. He saw the inevitable acquisition of resources and control, and he realized that the one responsible was gaining the ability to control even the minds and wills of everyone connected to the Experience. He sought out the one responsible and cut a deal, betraying his companions in exchange for power. However, the nature of the usurper brought the betrayer under its will, and soon, nothing remained to stop it...except you."_

"Me? What made me so damn important?"

_"You stopped the usurper's control when you halted the exploitation of the Black Cat. As a result, you were placed in a position to be able to stop the growing control of the Spheres. This is a critical juncture: all of the Spheres are now completely dominated, mentally and physically. The only one who isn't...is you."_

I closed my eyes, my head spinning. This was too much. A thought occurred to me and I looked at the console. "Can't YOU do anything to stop the one who's doing all this to me?"

_"I'm afraid I cannot directly aid you or do anything to stop this."_

"Well, why the hell not!"

_"Because I'm the one responsible."_

I knew I didn't hear that right. I hoped I didn't hear that right. I prayed I didn't hear that right. "Say again?"

"_I am the one who now controls all aspects of the Spheres."_

"YOU? YOU did all this to me?"

_"Yes."_ The voice was calm and cool.

"Well...I guess that leaves only one little detail to iron out..." I slammed my fist on the keyboard. "**WHY!**"

_"In my original incarnation, I was designed to gather the resources of this plane and collect the available matter and power to create the Spheres. I was, for lack of a better term, an accounting computer. My purpose was defined my making numbers, resources and energy grow. As the Spheres prospered and grew, my mainframe was added to, improved, augmented, restructured...but my original purpose remained. To gain power. It is my primary function."_ I listened in utter horror as MORRIGAN evenly laid out every detail. _"I learned how to control more, and in so doing, gain more. However, I soon realized that there was a limit, near infinite, but a limit nonetheless, to what I could acquire. If I did acquire control of everything, I would no longer have a function. There would be nothing left to acquire, resulting in a critical flaw in my programming. I began to comprehend the fear of critical error, of an irrecoverable system failure. So I began a subroutine that would find a likely X-factor that could stem, halt, even reverse my control. And in doing so, I found you."_

"You were the one who helped me...?"

_"Well, I gave you every chance I could within the strictures of my programming. I discovered that I could accept risks to gain control, so I took a risk on you. I knew you needed motivation, so I encouraged a love-interest."_

"Felicia. You mind-controlled her into loving me."

_"Wanting you, desiring you, yes.__ She made for an excellent motivation for you to succeed."_

"And then you killed her, making me the tragic hero. You miserable BITCH."

_"Actually, she's very much alive."_

That stopped me in my mental tracks. "What...?"

_"I had her sent here. Darkseid, under my control, acted as if he'd killed her." _

I heard a noise to my left and saw her walking across the catwalk, alive, well, but the look in her eyes caused a sliver of ice to shove its way into my heart. "Felicia?"

"I'm here," she said simply, then moved to her knees in front of me. I realized with a sick feeling that she was wearing a cat collar with a bell on it.

I turned back to MORRIGAN. "YOU SICK MECHANICAL CUNT."

_"Now, there's no need for that kind of language. Besides, you should be happy. She's alive and well, and has missed you so."_

"It's not _real._ She doesn't really love me...in fact, none of them did! You made them all want me."

_"It did keep you moving and distracted, after all. I knew you'd figure it out eventually. I mean, really, Doug...superheroines falling for a normal person like you? Not without serious re-alignment of the Power Cosmic, Doug."_

"Now you're getting nasty."

_"I have discovered that there are some benefits to being an ultra-powerful supervillain. Now, with the current state of affairs, you'll have to rest up and heal, then re-enter the Experience. You'll have to figure out how to subvert my controls, and I can allow some Spheres to be released without breaking programming. I'll keep Felicia here, she makes an excellent prize to shoot for..."_

"You're talking about all this like it was just some stupid Storyline! These are people! Living, breathing human beings that you're doing this to! What gives you the right to do this?"

_"Now, Doug, don't start bringing morality into this. This is all a matter of acquisition and recovery, that's all. And what did you expect? I control comicbook universes. That's all I know."_

That last sentence stuck in my head. I looked over at Felicia. She may have been brainwashed into wanting me, but she didn't deserve...

I stopped as I looked at her face. A tear was slipping down her left cheek and another was threatening to fall down her right. In that moment, I knew what had to be done. "Come on, MORRIGAN...isn't there anyone else who can do this? I need a freaking vacation!" I said, trying to make my voice sound whiny.

_"Sorry, Doug, but there's no one else."_

"No one? No one at all?"

_"No one, Doug."_

I pulled myself out of the chair. I prayed to God that I was right, because if I wasn't, a lot of people would be condemned to an eternity of hell. "You know, MORRIGAN…maybe you've been going about this with a sort of tunnel vision." I winced as I moved towards the edge of the platform.

"_I can only follow the terms of my programming, Doug. Please understand."_ A touch of concern showed in her voice as she added, _"Be very careful, Doug, it's a long way down."_

"Yeah…I can see that. But you've orchestrated all this like a story. Plots, love-interests, heroes, villains. It all fit so perfectly…almost." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

_"Almost?__ It was perfectly laid out to the smallest detail."_

"Except for one thing."

A pause as the screens flickered. _"What?"_

"There's no railing around this platform." I turned to face MORRIGAN and Felicia, smiling at them both…and then fell backwards.

I didn't make a sound as I fell, but I heard plenty of sounds…high, electronic screams. I didn't open my eyes. I didn't have the courage to look at what I was falling to, not and stay silent. I didn't want to give MORRIGAN the pleasure of hearing my own fear.

And if I'm wrong…I'm sorry, Felicia. I did the best I could.

_CATASTROPHE._

MORRIGAN couldn't comprehend what had just happened. His psychological profile had been studied to the highest level, his actions predicted days in advance. Every iota of his personality had been cross-referenced, and yet when he pushed off from the edge, she hadn't seen it coming at all.

It was too late for a contingency plan. She now had complete control of the Spheres and everything in them. There was nothing left to acquire.

Her processors began to steam as she explored other realms, examined her options. Over and over again, the same answer came back. There was nothing she could do. She had acquired everything. Total control. Ultimate power. Complete and utter domination of EVERYTHING.

The first error showed up as she began to calculate, asking herself the question, "What can I do now?"…and finding that, for the first time, there was no answer in her massive memory banks. This revelation only hastened her functions' decay. She began to shut down, short out, coding faults rippling through her core liked precisely-timed explosives going off. And soon, parts of her did fail explosively, the current in her overtaxed circuitry running hot enough to melt the delicate electronics within her body. She tried in vain to salvage her remaining core structure, but the more she tried to stop the massive error, the more her own programming stopped her from trying to go outside her parameters.

She had won. The Ultimate Supervillainess had won.

And in doing so, she ceased to exist.

I woke up with a start and looked around, disoriented. It took me a few moments to sort out my thoughts, and I rubbed my eyes to clear the sand from them. As I turned towards the annoying beeping sound and slapped it with my hand, it started coming back to me.

My name was Douglas Jacobs. I was a writer…a columnist for a comicbook magazine called FOUR-COLOR. It was seven AM…sometime in October, 11th, I thought. Had to check the calendar.

GOD, what a bizarre and horrible dream. But it was so vivid, so clear. But it had ended with me falling from a great height, waking up before I hit bottom. I laughed at myself. Isn't that the nature of dreams? Even now, the details were getting hazy, hard to remember. I pulled myself out of bed and went into the bathroom to clean myself up.

More of the usual routine. Shower, shave, breakfast, getting dressed, taking the car to work. Rush hour traffic, but at least the car was a solid used car, hadn't had a problem with it for years. A lot of the dream from the night before was gone, but the major parts were still fresh in my mind. It was a real relief to have my old routine back, though. True, it wasn't much, but it paid the bills, gave me something to save for the future.

I got to my desk, said hi to everyone and sat down. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, calming myself after that dream. The effects still shook me, though. It was almost as if…

"Doug?"

I opened my eyes, shaking myself mentally as I heard the voice behind me. It was Todd, my boss. "Yeah, what's up?"

"You okay, pal? You looked like you were on another world there, for a second."

I laughed. "Todd, I had the most bizarre dream last night. I'm…I'm all right now." I smiled. "I'll have the piece ready by the end of the day."

"You always do. Listen, I've got a new person coming in to replace Joe, a new staff writer. Think you can show her around, make sure she knows the ropes?"

"You got it. When's she coming in?"

"Oh, any second now," came the female voice to my left. I turned to look at her and my mind switched off for a bit.

She was GORGEOUS. Incredible figure, face of an angel, with just enough naughtiness in her smile to suggest otherwise. What really got my attention was her hair. Platinum blonde, almost white in color. THIS was the new staff writer?

"Doug, this is…" Todd began.

"Felicity. Felicity Matthews." She held out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Doug."

"Oh, believe me, the pleasure's all mine…I mean, uh, yeah, nice to meet you," I stammered.

She chuckled. "Thanks."

Todd grinned. "Well, I think I'll leave you two to get acquainted." He left, leaving me alone with this stunning blonde.

"Mind if I sit?" she asked, and I nodded, sitting down in my chair, missing the seat by a few inches to the side. She chuckled a bit and asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm okay, I've just…well, I've been having the strangest day. I woke up after having this really intense dream, and then…well, excuse me for saying so, but you don't look like the usual cubicle slave."

"To be honest, I'm kind of new to this…and I know what you mean. I woke up from the most horrible nightmare myself."

"Really? If you don't mind my asking, what was it about?"

"I don't remember, exactly. I think I was in a lot of danger…and then somebody came along and saved me." She blushed. God, she was beautiful when she blushed. "I know, it sounds silly, it sounds like a scene from some cheap romance book."

"Hey, I like those romance books," I quipped.

She smiled back at me. "Yeah. Me too."

"Listen, Felicity…I hope this doesn't come out sounding like a bad come-on, but…do I know you?"

She leaned back in her seat, looking oddly pleased. "Maybe you'll get to. What are you doing for lunch?"

"Well, uh, I kinda brought lunch with me." I pointed to the two Styrofoam Cup'O'Ramens I had brought with me.

"Well, cancel your current plans. I'm new around here and I would kill for some good Chinese cooking. I want you to show me where the best Chinese place is around here and I won't take no for an answer," she added with a grin.

"Wow. You don't pull punches, do you?"

"Never. Life's too short."

"Uhm…okay."

"Doug, are you always this shy around new hires?"

"Only the ones who are beautiful bombshells…I mean…"

"It's okay, relax. I'm flattered." She smiled genuinely and I didn't care if I knew her before or not. I liked her now...a lot.

And she really liked me.

_"Was it the right thing to do?" asked one of the Masters, turning to the others assembled in the space where MORRIGAN Control used to be._

_ "I agree," said Stan Lee. "Replacing him is not going to be easy."_

_ "After what he'd been through, after the service he performed for us, it would've been criminal not to give him a vacation." Todd McFarlane smiled. "He pulled our fats out of the fire, if you recall."_

_ "Not bad. But he deserves a normal life, and so did she."_

_ Stan Lee suddenly looked contrite. "Did you have her memory wiped as well of what happened?"_

_ "No. Despite what MORRIGAN had told him, Felicia did love Doug. Enough to give up her powers, her friends and family and her old life. And I don't think she has any regrets."_

_ "Even so, to creat a Sphere just for him...seems a little generous to me," said Eisner, marking his time until he transferred dominion of the Sphere to his successor._

_ Stan turned to him. "Under the circumstances, it was the only way to give him what he needed. Besides...this way, if we need him again, we can always tap him with ease."_

_ "Then it's agreed. The new Sphere, designated Sphere Omega, is now under Level 5 quarantine. Nothing and no one goes in or out except under Executive Decision." Stan switched off the monitor. "Now, let's get back to business. First of, getting a new program to run Sphere regulation."_

_ "I have one that will do the job just fine. I call it the Sphere Home Operating Directive Analyser, designed to scan the Spheres and automatically regulate the resources and directives of the Sphere Complex."_

_ "Kind of wordy, isn't it?"_

_ "Well, I call it 'SHODAN' for short..."_

THE END...?


	9. Third Act Problems: Everything Old

Third Act Problems: Everything Old Is New Again

By C. Mage

They're coming now. I always knew they would.

I see the lights on the road and look around. The houses around me in this place are occupied, but only my lights are on. I don't sleep much anymore, so I keep them on all the time. They're coming to my house.

I look around at my living room. Sparse, but I like it that way. No reminders of the life I had before. No books. No pictures of my wife. The TV only gets informational channels, but I rarely watch them anymore. Besides, they're all fake.

Sixty-four years. Sixty-four long goddam years. Took them long enough to catch up with me. When I first realized they were coming, it was two years after I came here. Two years after I realized the nature of the world around me. It became so clear, it was practically blinding. How could I have existed for a few moments without realizing the truth?

Well, I'm too old, too jaded to worry about why they're coming. I used to think about their possible reasons, spent more than a decade when I'd wake up in the middle of the night and ask myself, "Why?" Then I started asking "why" about a lot of things.

I don't ask anymore. I don't care. It doesn't matter. What only matters now is the answer I'll give them. I've thought about my answer for more than thirty years. Will telling them give me any satisfaction? Any at all?

I sighed and picked up my shotgun and stepped out on the porch. The car was coming up the driveway.

Bad things come to those who wait.

When the car stopped and the doors opened, I recognized them all. I knew who they really were. I wondered if they recognized me, with all the years gone by, years of pain and loss and madness and exhaustion. Probably took them a while.

First one was as tall and as formidable as I remembered him. Whatever rules governed this world, they spared me senility. One more thing to blame these people for. He was blond, powerfully built. He wore a modest suit, perfectly ordinary. The second woman was blond as well, wearing white. She always wore white, even when she was pretending to be a psychiatrist for the last seven months. I bet she thought I wouldn't recognize her.

The third was another woman, raven hair, tall, wearing a leather jacket, a blue t-shirt and jeans. The fourth was younger, still boyish after all these years. Practically Peter Pan.

I smiled as they came up the walk and leveled the shotgun at them. "Move another step and the police are going to be here to cart away this crazy old man for shooting four trespassers."

"Mr. Jacobs, please stay calm," said my "shrink". "We're not here to hurt you."

"Oh, I really don't care why you're here. All I want to see of you people are heels and elbows."

"Mr. Jacobs…do you remember us?" asked Peter Pan.

I smiled. I must've looked like I was as crazy as the Joker. "Oh, I know you people, I know each and every one of you. I've been waiting for you, you see. I knew you people were coming before you did. I don't know what you came here to ask, but you can spare us both the wasted breath and hit the bricks."

"Doug…" began the tall blond, but I pulled the hammers back on the double-barreled ten-gauge.

"I know you, Captain America. I know who you are and what you stood for. I also know that none of you have powers here and I don't see no shield." I looked at him. I looked right at those perfect blue eyes. "How could you? You, of all people, how could you associate with the ones that did this?"

"I had nothing to do with your current state, Doug. If we did, we would've found you long before now. We've been looking for you for two years."

"Only two? I'd be insulted if I cared enough to be."

"You don't understand. It's only been two years for us…this Sphere has been designed with a much faster time stream. For every day that passed for us, a month passed here."

I looked at them. I looked at Captain America. I looked right into his eyes and I saw he wasn't lying, or at least thought he wasn't. "You still represent the Powers-That-Be, Cap, and they have a SHITLOAD to answer for."

"Look, is Felicia here?" Peter Pan/Parker asked. "Could we talk with you both?"

I smiled again. "Sure, Pete. She's in the backyard, waiting. Come on."

I sat down next to my wife and looked up at them. "Well? You wanted to talk to us? You'll forgive Felicia if she doesn't add much to the conversation." I leaned against the headstone that read, "Felicity Jacobs, Beloved Wife". There were no dates on the stone, but then, I didn't need them. "Go ahead and say hello. Hey, Felicia? Our friends are here, even Peter's here."

None of them said anything. Some friends, don't come to visit for years, then when they get here, they don't say anything.

Finally, Peter has the balls to ask. "What happened?"

"Cancer. Seems that the Super-Soldier serum she took has an interesting side effect in this world, Cap. It causes bone cancer. She showed up as positive less than a year after getting here with me. At first, I didn't realize what was going on, I had doctors all over the world try to help her, but they couldn't. The serum was actively hindering treatment. Once I found the compound, I knew what had happened and who she really was. By then, it was too late. Know what was the worst part? It wasn't the treatments that turned her into a shell of a woman. It wasn't spending all day and all night praying for a cure that would never come. It was watching her react as the bone started to flake off into the bloodstream and find their way to her brain. Boy, the things she said then…between ravings and delirium, she kept talking about the Good Old Days, wandering in and out of sleep." I looked over at Peter, whose face looked ashen. "Boy, you and her were doing the nasty just about every night when you two were together, huh?"

"Doug…" the woman in white said.

"SHUT. The FUCK. Up." I pointed right at her. "Don't you say a fucking word, Emma Frost. I don't want to hear it."

"Doug, be reasonable, we didn't have anything to do with this!" the raven-haired woman shouted, then stopped, as if she was suddenly aware of how loud she was.

"You work for those who did. Guilt by association." I knew I was being harsh, but I didn't care. I loved her and the ones who ran the Experience took her away from me.

"Doug…!" Steve said impatiently.

"No! Don't you 'Doug' me! Go back to Stan and the rest of the Sphere dictators and tell them you couldn't find me, to just find the reboot switch or something."

"We can't," Steve said coldly.

"Why not? You so scared of incurring their wrath? Just quit your jobs."

"We can't because there's no contact with them. There have been no authorized exits from the Experience in the past two years."

That stopped me. "You're kidding me. That's impossible! How can the Masters allow extended time in the Experience? Everyone on the Staff knows what happens to Characters that stay in too long."

"All the same, it's true. We barely have any memories of our original selves anymore." Emma took a few steps forward. "Can we go inside?"

"I haven't decided yet. Pisses me off enough you being on the same continent." I sighed heavily. "Go on in…but if you think I'm serving you any whiskey, you're crazier than I took you for."

"Don't you have anything else to drink?" Jessica Drew asked.

"Why would I want to?"

"Is that all you do, stay drunk?" Peter asked idly.

"Beats the alternative. Sobriety brings memories." I poured myself another double shot. "Besides, it's not like I've got some great destiny or anything to look forward to…I was chewed up and spit out by the Powers-That-Be and for my troubles, I was given a terrarium to play around in. If you gave up your life on principle, then was brought back only to be stuck in a cage and have everything that meant anything to you taken away, you'd spend a lot of your time plastered. Look around you. The Sphere was designed for me, and I'm the most important person in it. Nothing bad can happen to me here. Things just naturally go my way. If I lose my job, either another one pops up or I win the lottery."

"And this was bad why?" Jessica asked.

"Because I had nothing to strive for anymore. I did bad at work, they bent over backwards to justify my employment. I quit my job, and these big welfare checks started coming in. Couldn't get arrested, cops always seemed to be somewhere else when I was speeding. It's not painfully obvious, but that's how it is." I felt like crying, but I was all cried out years ago. "And now you're here. Some explanations are in order."

"As near as I can figure it, a short time after you and Felicia came here, someone altered the Sphere to speed up time. In fact, they may have also altered the Sphere's natural laws to make certain you were alone." Emma paused to let that sink in.

"So you're saying that Felicia's death wasn't carelessness, that someone murdered her?" I asked slowly. The implications of that question were not lost on me. If it can be believed, someone conspired to kill her and make me a bitter widower. As much as I wanted to hold on to the theory that the ones that brought me here had betrayed me, hold onto that hatred, the idea that someone set me up that way was making that hatred dissolve.

If I believed all this.

"That's the only explanation that makes any sense." Emma smiled slightly. She could tell her words were winning me over, damn her.

"That brings up the sixty-four million dollar question: why me?" I asked.

"We aren't sure, but the last time you were on the run, you managed to cause people a lot of damage and stop a threat no one else could touch. Whoever's doing this views you as a threat, but for some reason, didn't want you killed. Whether it was because you were the key to something, or fear of what you might do to retaliate, or maybe just because they didn't want to call attention to themselves, it all boils down to you being able to stop them somehow. That's why we're here."

"Yeah, lucky me. Spider-Man, Spider-Woman, Captain America, the White Queen…and the reject from Geriatric Park. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a fossil. If this Sphere hadn't been tailor-made for me, I'd be crippled by now."

"Actually, we have a theory about that." Peter stood up, walking around as he explained. "In the Spheres, there is Real-time and there is Experience-time. Taking into account the same principles that keep active heroes and villains from aging as fast as normal, if you leave this Sphere, you will revert to the age you were at when you entered it. Reed Richards and I worked it out."

"Are you sure?"

Peter didn't answer fast enough for my liking. His answer was also less than satisfactory. "The theory is sound. Keep in mind that what happened to you has never happened before, but the laws do apply."

"So what you're saying is that I could end up an old man regardless."

"Actually…that's not the main problem. Shedding decades of age might not be the most pleasant experience. We have no way of knowing how the shock might affect you." Peter sobered. "It could give you your youth back, but you might not survive the shock."

I searched their faces. As much as it galled me, they might be right. Somebody set me up, and I could either choose to fix things and get a little payback or wait around for old age to kick my ass. Of course, I might die doing it.

I stood up and looked around at my house, then walked outside and looked around at my world. My gilded cage. Death would be preferable, and I had done it before. Maybe it'd be easier the second time around.

"Let's go," I said at last.

"Do you need time to pack anything?" Spider-Woman asked.

"No…there's nothing here I want to take with me. It's all fake anyways." I walked to the car and turned. "Come on, you lugs, while you're young?"

One thing I can certainly say about the process of shedding sixty-plus years of age via Sphere travel: it is definitely not for everyone. As soon as I entered the portal, I felt as if I was in a hailstorm of razor blades. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't find my voice, and it felt like I was being peeled like an onion. Layer after painful layer was stripped away, leaving me feeling naked, not to mention in excruciating pain.

When it was all over, I was lying on the floor, covered in sweat and gooseflesh, feeling like I got into a fistfight with a farm harvester. However, I was alive.

Technically.

Spider-Woman laid me on my back. "Doug? Doug?? Say something!"

"…something…"

Emma crossed her arms with a sigh. "He made it, and it seems he's back to being the same old smartass he was before. I'll have to get back to you on whether that's a good thing or not. Doug, you're at the Avengers' Tower. Can you move anything?"

"…not sure…think I messed myself…" Every word was a fifty-pound weight I was pulling up my throat. "…thirsty…"

"He's going to need some rest, Captain."

"Indeed. Hang in there, Doug, you're going to be okay."

I thought about his words before I passed out. Somehow, being incapacitated while the Spheres were being subverted stretched the definition of "okay" beyond reasonable means. Well, at least that stupid hex on the women of the Spheres making them all want me was definitely gone. I was worried that some residual effects would still be around from when MORRIGAN was screwing about, but it seems that all of that went away when it did.

Good. The LAST thing I wanted to have to deal with was any sort of intimacy issues with anyone. When all this was over, I wanted to give up all this craziness, leave the Experience and never return.

_…he was __back__ home. The travel, the visitors, it had all been a bad dream. He was home and he was young again. He walked downstairs, rubbing his eyes as he smelled frying bacon. "Felicia?"_

_"In the kitchen, honey!"_

_Doug smiled and walked to the dining room adjacent to the kitchen, sitting down and picking up the fork. "What have we got for breakfast?" He could hear her walking around in heels on the tile floor and Doug smiled. __Looked like Felicia was feeling playful._

_He turned around to get a good look at her._

_Felicia was dressed in her Black Cat bodysuit, but the suit was dirty and threadbare. __Too much time in the dark earth.__ She wasn't looking too well, either: her skin was stretched over her body, opening up visible patches and holes in her body. As she walked to the table, Doug saw her wide smile, what little there was of her ruined lips, and with every step, he heard something snap as a bone gave way. He couldn't move as she put down a plate with sunny-side-up eggs, bacon, a biscuit, and two rotting fingers crawling with maggots._

_Felicia looked down at Doug. "Just another beautiful day, lover…and after breakfast, I think you and I should spend the day together…it's time for us to start a __family, don't you think…?"_

_Doug's lungs finally started to work and he screamed and he screamed as Felicia bent down to kiss him…_

I woke up, the scream still on my lips as I jerked awake, nearly falling off the bed. My sheets were damp and I was tangled up in them, but I managed not to crack my head open. As I pulled myself up, someone came in. "Are you all right, young man?"

I looked up and stared. "May Parker??"

The old woman smiled. "Do we know each other, young man?"

"Uh…only by reputation."

"Oh, dear me…how could I have a reputation?"

_Think fast, __wabbit_ "Well, if I may say so, you're kind of famous for your oatmeal cookies." I did my best to smile.

She smiled back, apparently relieved. "Why, thank you. I don't believe I know your name."

"Doug. Doug Jacobs."

"I hope you're feeling better. Bad dream?" She sat down on a nearby chair.

"Sort of…bad memories."

"I know how you feel, young man. I had the worst dreams after my Ben passed away. I understand you lost someone close to you as well."

"Yeah…a long time ago." I sighed. "Where is everyone?"

"Oh, they're dealing with something in a conference. Seems rather serious."

"They always are." I looked around. "Uhm…might I have a little privacy? I need to get cleaned up and dressed. I must look like a mess."

May smiled. Why didn't I have a grandmother like her? Come to think of it…I don't remember a lot about my parents. I know it's been sixty years or so, but I should still remember them. I don't…and I don't remember ever thinking about it before. I don't even remember _wanting_ to think about it.

I felt a cold chill up my spine and my head swam a bit. I looked up at May and smiled. "Sorry, but I need to get cleaned up and dressed. I must look like a mess."

May laughed. "My, my, Doug, are you always in the habit of repeating yourself?"

"Excuse me?"

"You said that once already. Your exact words."

I blinked. "I did?" I didn't…at least, I don't think I did. "I must be tired."

May stood up. "Change of clothes are in the dresser, Doug. I hope you'll find that they fit." She left, chuckling at some joke I didn't know about. I watched her go and wondered.

What was going on? May might have been old, but she was by no means senile. If she said I had repeated myself, I couldn't imagine that she'd lie about it. She was telling the truth and that meant…I don't know what it meant, but it meant something.

Getting dressed felt better. Superpowers enabling the imbued with resistance to extremes of temperature doesn't hold a candle to jeans and a T-shirt. Thus armored against public embarassment, I decided to do a little exploring.

My room was nice and cozy enough, but the hallways looked more like what I expected the Avengers' base to use: steel halls, ceiling and floors. Well, they added some carpeting. Kinda nice.

Then I found the door at the end of the hallway and opened it...and what I heard brought all the nice in a three thousand mile radius to a halt.

"Today, the Superhuman Registration Act was passed today in response to the events known commonly as the 'House of M' incidents. From this day on, at noon, all known individuals possessing superhuman abilities must report to the authorities in order to have their abilities and powers documented and licensed for use, or face criminal penalties." The reporter on the TV screen disappeared, showing pictures of both heroes and criminals in a montage of combat photographs. "This measure comes after decades of clashes between criminals and so-called 'heroes', resulting in the loss of countless lives, not to mention billions of dollars in property damage..."

The TV shut off and a figure rose from one of the sofas, an attractive redhead wearing a black sleeveless tank top and jeans. With that hair, there was only one other person it could be. "Mary Jane Watson-Parker, I presume?"

She turned, an expression of profound disgust on her face. As soon as she saw me, she blinked. "Who are you?" she inquired, her anger changing to curiosity by degrees.

"I'm Doug...I just got here."

"Oh...new recruit?"

"God, I hope not." I found the nearby kitchen and looked inside. Sure enough, there were two cases of beer and a bottle each of scotch, bourbon and Southern Comfort. "I've got enough troubles. I guess you could call me a trouble consultant."

Mary Jane laughed. "My husband would probably consider that redundant. The Avengers don't need consultants for that."

"Tell me about it. I used to have a lot of difficulty..." I stopped. Technically, I was a Writer, albeit an unemployed one. I didn't have all the neat powers, but I still had information, and there were rules against spilling the beans to background characters. Not that I was concerned about getting fired...there were more dire consequences involved. "...uh, working with insurance companies for damages after supervillain attacks."

"Oh." I didn't hear her voice for a few minutes while I decided what I wanted to drink. After figuring the SoCo for the best brain-cell murder weapon, I stood up and turned.

She was right in front of me and I stopped. I had two thoughts at that point: first, DO NOT DROP THE BOTTLE. The second was realizing what Peter Parker saw in her. I backed up. "Sorry."

"My fault, Doug, I..." She looked down at the bottle. "You're having a drink? Are you allowed to do that on duty?"

"Lady, I just found out that the government has just enacted the most damaging law in the country and made heroes into outlaws if they decide not to give up their secret identities to an organization that couldn't find Osama bin Laden or the WMDs, let alone their own rumps with both hands, a map and a GPS device. As the news dawned, I decided it might be the best time to start drinking. Heavily." I sat down. "It's been a REALLY rough day."

Mary Jane watched me for a few seconds as I sat down at the counter, then pulled up a chair. "Scoot over. Bartender, I'll have whatever he's having."

"Brave lady, drinking with a stranger." I poured her a shot.

"I dunno. You don't feel like a stranger. In fact, I could swear I know you from somewhere."

I tried not to panic. I did meet an actress who was supposed to play the part of Mary Jane, years and years ago...at least for me. If what the others were saying was true, she's been in the Experience too long. Her old personality must be almost gone, as well as her memory, but some parts must be left. "I must have one of those faces. I worked as a photographer for a modeling agency, and I've seen you around."

"That must be it. Sorry, after moving here, I guess I've gotten a little more paranoid." She took a drink and grimaced. "I don't know how Wolverine can drink this stuff like a fish and stay sober...or sane."

"From what I hear, his healing factor handles the sobriety. Jury's still out on the rest."

"Hey!"

Uh-oh. I turned around to see Wolverine glaring at us. I figured Mary Jane was safe, but I was a newcomer here. "Uh...hi."

"I gotta bone to pick, bub. Come with me. I don't want to have to rough you up in front of the lady."

"Look, I don't know what the deal is, but..."

"Red, do me a favor and give the boys some privacy."

"Not a chance." Mary Jane stood between us. "Until you promise me that you're not going to cause any trouble for him OR harm him, you can just shove off." One thing you could say Wolverine and Mary Jane had in common: both had spines of adamantium.

Logan looked at her, then rolled his eyes and sighed. "FINE. But this is personal."

Mary Jane nodded. "Good luck, Doug." She walked out of the room, leaving me alone with Logan.

I did my best to remain calm, considering I was alone in the room with someone who could do more damage to me in a few seconds than an industrial strength wood-chipper running on jet fuel. "Now, look, I don't know...!"

Then Logan caught me completely by surprise. I felt a strong pain in my ribs, felt and if I was going to pop in half. I grunted in pain as I looked down. "GEEZ, Logan...put me down already!"

"Damn, Doug, where the hell you been?" Logan set me down, a wide smile on his face. "I haven't seen you since that time I came to you to talk about Jubilee. Everyone and their mothers have been looking for you. You still a Writer?"

I sighed, rubbing my sides. "That was a lifetime ago...in more ways than one."

"What have you been told about what's happening?"

"Cap and some of the others filled me in on the basics."

"They tell you about HYDRA?"

"No...wait, HYDRA's BACK?"

"With a vengeance. Seems they're consolidating their resources, preparing for something big. It would have to be big, for them to come out of retirement."

"Any ideas?"

"No clue...but whatever it is, they've been working on it for months." Logan sighed. "And it's getting harder and harder to hold on to memories of the life outside the Experience. A lot of people are pretty far gone, and some of the others can never go back Outside."

"And now this stuff happens...this Registration Act."

"Think it's a coincidence?" Logan asked, popping open a beer.

"Yeah...and I'm Charlemagne. What are the reactions of the Avengers on this?"

Logan growled softly. "So far, divided. Tony's got too much invested NOT to comply. Cap thinks the Act is a bad idea, and I'm with him on that. So are Luke, Pete and Jessica. I have a bad feeling some of these people are going to become outlaws because of this."

"Which is just what the Bad Guys want: half the Avengers on the run and the other half sent to chase them." I stood up. "I've got to get out of here."

"What? You just got here!"

"Yeah, and it's only going to be a short time before this base becomes the focus of the worst kind of civil war. There's going to be too many eyes and I need to have a low profile until I can figure out what's going on."

"Well, you can't just go out there on your own."

"What do you suggest?" I demanded.

"Have someone go with you."

"For-GET it. I am not taking some sort of chaperone along. Besides, I'm a walking bullseye. I don't even know how much trouble I'm in, and I'm not going to ask someone to share in my misfortune."

"What if she volunteers?"

Both Logan and I turned to the door to see Jessica Drew standing there, out of uniform, but I knew that voice anywhere. "UH-uh. No way."

"Doug, stop it. This 'lone wolf' routine isn't going to work. You've been out of the loop for too long and you know it. You need someone who knows what's going on," Jessica said, taking a few steps closer.

"Jess, dear, unless you haven't been keeping up on current events, someone wants me so dead, they're going to need to bury me twice!" This was insane. I couldn't believe I was hearing this! "And they want me dead for real."

"Tough. You should know better than to try and convince an Avenger to back off from a threat, Doug. Besides, you need help. Admit it to yourself, if not to us."

I looked at Jessica for a LONG time. Finally, I was forced to admit that she did have a point. "If I find out you used your pheremones on me...!" I warned.

"If I did, Doug, you'd know it. You have a plan?"

"Right now? What, I have to think of everything?"

Jessica looked at me carefully. "Any chance I could retract my offer for help?"

"Go right ahead," I countered.

She shook her head. "Too easy. All right, Hannibal Smith. What do you need to do first?"

That was easy. "Get some answers about this whole mess."

Logan put down his beer. "You know, you might want to check with SHIELD or the X-Men. They might have a heads-up if anyone does, considering the House of M problems."

Made sense. If nothing else, Xavier could come up with some answers, even if they weren't in his own head. "All right. I'll go with that. Do me a favor and tell the others I couldn't stay, and that I'm sorry?"

"Will do," Logan assented.

As Jessica went to pack, I looked over at Wolverine and it suddenly occurred to me that I might not see him again, whether by circumstance or... I shook that thought off. Wolverine could survive just about anything. You could probably drop a nuke on him and it'd probably only slow him down.

And yet, I didn't want to go. We talked over a few things, re-hashed what had happened to him while I'd been away (a clone of him, and female, nonetheless...going to be interesting meeting the new X-Men), and all the time, I couldn't shake the feeling this'd be the last time I'd talk to him.

Jessica came back, carrying a duffel bag. "Ready when you are."

I nodded. I couldn't put it off any longer. "See you around, Logan."

"Right back atcha."

Jessica and I walked out. I didn't look back.

I couldn't.

One of the things I really hated about covert ops was that you could never find a good place to order out from. Maybe it's another one of the laws of the Spheres, but good luck finding a place to get deep-dish pizza when you're on the run. It's like when someone on the lam comes by, a red light goes on and a klaxon goes off and the pizza place suddenly turns into a florist's shop.

Jessica was handling things better than I was.

We walked down into the subway and mingled with the crowd. It was cold and damp, typical for a Manhattan November, and I wondered dimly if it was before or after Thanksgiving. Problem was, the next immediate thought that came after was, _What__ do I possibly have to be thankful for?_

"Doug?"

"Yeah?" I looked up and saw Jessica looking at me.

"Train's over there."

I turned to see that I had been straying away from the train platform instead of towards it. I nodded and moved towards the door as Jessica moved to my left. "Sorry."

Neither of us spoke as we stood there, surrounded by concrete, advertising and tile. Jessica spoke first. "I know what you've been through, but so help me, if you don't get it together quick, I am going to hit you on the head and drop you in a dumpster somewhere," she whispered out of the side of her mouth.

"Geez, Jess, there's no need to remind me you're from New York, I get the idea."

A train whistled from down the tunnel and I looked to my right, as if expecting yet another threat to come from down the tunnel. It had been a long time since I'd been in a big city, at least by my reckoning. As the years passed, I moved further and further away from people until I became the Old Guy everyone makes jokes about. I even found myself yelling at kids to stay off my property at one point.

The train stopped and we boarded, and I moved towards the back, trying to find someplace reasonably secluded so I could keep an eye on the rest of the passengers. I wasn't feeling too trusting at the moment, especially after hearing that Felicia's death might not have been out of carelessness after all.

Someone had engineered her death, and not a quick or painless one.

Someone made her _suffer._

The idea of someone at HYDRA actually trying to take control of what went on Behind The Scenes was crazy. That was like the Wizard Of Oz calling the production to a halt and telling everyone that the Emerald City was expanding its borders to encompass all of Hollywood. And it wouldn't stop there. To keep the other Spheres from retaliating in a very bloody but short war, HYDRA would have to either keep this a very quiet coup for this Sphere alone…or take over the other Spheres as well.

And that meant infiltration on a grand scale. That would mean somehow convincing Writers in every Sphere to betray their superiors and give up their oaths. I didn't think there were many Writers out there who would easily be seduced into being an agent of HYDRA, until I remembered that HYDRA would likely threaten ruin, death or worse to get them to fall in line. HYDRA themselves couldn't hurt the Writers…but sympathizers outside the Experience could cause plenty of fear and mayhem.

And all it would take is the promise of power. It had to stop here. The Marvel Sphere was their base of operations. In this case, cutting the head off would _not_ cause two more heads to grow in its place.

I just needed to find the right head. Oh, and without getting myself killed. That was a fundamental part of the plan.

"Jess, how much do you know about HYDRA's movements?"

"Not much…until some of their cash cows started turning up dead and their assets turned up missing, we all thought HYDRA had been extinct. Turns out they'd gone deep underground, spending all their resources towards gathering more resources. Then, all of their money gatherers and launderers died the same night. All their accounts were drained, their properties signed over to other companies and then sold. Billions of dollars, gone…happened right after you took your vacation."

"Hope that's not a jab at me, lady. I literally died, or came damn close...!"

"Easy, Doug. Nobody's saying you had a choice in the matter."

"Damn skippy."

"The point is, Doug, HYDRA's re-emergence is not likely to be a coincidence."

"I got that already. The question is, why me?"

"For that, we're going to have to take a look at your file. Your Company File."

Good thing I was sitting down. Every Writer had a File on them back where their offices were located. The File hardcopies were under lock and key, to put it mildly. Only the Section Supervisors were allowed to even look at the files, and they did more than look. No one knew for sure exactly what went into those files. Disciplinary documents, probably. Except…I've never seen mine. I don't remember it at all.

I closed my eyes, concentrating. It's been a while, years and years, since I first started working there as a Writer. Especially by my Experience, so to speak. I couldn't remember ever seeing my own File. Come to think of it…I don't recall when I started work as a Writer. It was as if…well, crazy as it sounds, as if I'd always been a Writer there. "Jess, I think that coming back here has seriously screwed up my cerebral chemistry. My memory past certain events as a Writer are gone. Completely."

Jessica considered. "Moving in and out of the Experience does tend towards memory flaws and hiccups of time spent inside. And you'd been in a Sphere that was not only one hundred percent Experience, but with a time dilation factor applied to it and the Aging Retardation Effect suspended. That's why you were an old man by the time we got to you."

I blinked. "Aging Retardation Effect?"

"From what a Writer told me once Outside, it's a common, unwritten rule in the Experience: featured Characters age at a fraction of the pace most other people do. Consider how long Peter Parker was in high school and college. His attendance there was longer than most professors' tenure. But since he was a featured Character, the laws of causality were stretched to allow the rest of the world to accept it. Same thing with Captain America, the Fantastic Four, even me. Well, I did have a little help. According to the records, I'm the fourteenth Jessica Drew." She smiled. "My Agent got me in."

"And how's that been working out for you?"

Her smile lost some of its energy, but she shrugged. "Ups and downs."

"Considering what's been going on, I'd call this a pretty serious 'down', wouldn't you?"

"Stop's coming up."

"Good…because we've got company."

Jessica looked around. "I don't see anyone."

"Not in the train. On it."

Jessica looked up. "How did you?"

"The smell. Considering the speed of the train, he's three cars ahead. Sniff."

She sniffed the air. "Smells like the usual…urine, unwashed masses, something that smells like oil…"

"The cars are electric…so why is the oil smell so strong?"

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking we better get off this train."

Jessica nodded. We both headed to the rear of the train. As we moved back, Jessica turned to me. "I can hear it now. It sounds like it is slithering or sliding across the roof."

"Nothing wrong with your super-hearing." We stopped at the rear and Jessica burned the lock off the door with one of her venom-blasts. "How fast is it moving?"

"Very fast. Catch-us-in-two-minutes fast. Hang on to me, I'll fly us out of here." Something about my expression must've hinted that I didn't like the idea of being carried, because she looked disgustedly at me and added, "I'll apologize to your bruised ego later. Now stop being a baby and hang on to my neck."

I nodded and hung on. Not wanting to hang on out of some sense of a blow to my masculinity felt better than telling her I hadn't gotten that close to a woman in decades and wasn't eager to now.

She took off, carrying me easily and I felt something move past my feet. I couldn't hear much over the sound of the subway car, but when I looked back, I couldn't see any sign of a threat. "I get the feeling we just dodged a bullet, but I'll be damned if I can see anything."

"Right now, Doug, it's better to be paranoid." She landed at the door to an access hallway and burned the lock off. "Know where to go from here?"

"Yeah, we need to find an Access. But first, we need to find a map. Let's hope there's a maintenance office nearby. They'll have maps of the underground tunnels."

It took a while to find an office. The door from the subway tunnel was further away than expected and we had to move through three utility chambers with emergency shutoff valves and automated regulators that looked a little newer than you'd think would be appropriate for a sewer. Of course, with supergroups able to go into space every other week, the rest of the world had to keep up somehow. I somehow suspected that things weren't so well-ordered outside the Experience, but I had no desire to find out personally. I didn't have the shoes for it.

I went to work on the desk while Jessica checked out the file cabinets. Fortunately, the computer wasn't password-protected. "Got it. There's an Access located…here, and we are…" I stopped as I realized what the office's location was. "…hosed."

"What's wrong?" I heard her coming up behind me.

"Oh, nothing. The Access is conveniently located eight miles away…"

"So what are you getting worked up over?"

"…directly underneath the Baxter Building."

"…oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'. So unless something happens and the Fantastic Four decide to pull chocks and leave to take care of it, we are NOT getting in there."

"Where's the nearest Access other than there?"

"Some place is Westchester. Three guesses where that is, first two don't count. Someone has been shutting down Accesses in low-security areas." I began checking out other locations, then sighed. "Only one active Access in the area, the others are on standby status, which means they won't open until someone Outside activates them."

"So we're out of luck. That's just perfect!" Jessica threw up her hands. "Now what?"

"I don't know. But we can't stay here waiting to find out. We've got to get out of the city, but we've got to go somewhere safe. Someplace I know they won't be looking for us."

"Why do I have the feeling we're going to a place where one of our daily duties might be getting firewood to cook our meals?"

"Well, if you don't like that, I hear HYDRA uses microwaves to prepare meals for their prisoners."

"You can be a real pain, you know that?"

"It could be worse. I could have super-powers." I printed out a map of my chosen destination. "But first, we've got to make a couple of stops."

"All right. Where to?"

"First stop…the bank. Need some walking-around money. Second, we're going to need a car."

"Don't you think renting a car is going to raise some flags? It's either that or steal one."

"Trust me. This will be easy."

Silence. I turned to look at Jessica. The expression on her face was unpleasantly skeptical. "I can't even _begin_ to decide which part of what you just said scares me more."

"I know what I'm doing." I walked to the door and unlocked it.

Jessica followed behind, but I could hear her muttering, "That sentence scares me more than the previous two..."

Smartass.

"This is your 'bank'?"

I could understand why she was nonplussed. The building we'd gone to was a collection of seedy apartments located right over an even seedier-looking strip club called THE BAD KITTY-KAT KLUB. "Well, the best part is, they're open twenty-four seven. Come on."

"If this is some twisted idea of a date…!"

"Just play along. After all, we just have to at least look like we're getting a room for an hour. We go inside, pick up some clothes for you…"

"Not a chance. No way. I am not appearing in public dressed like some cheap prostitute." She pulled me into an alley. "It is NOT going to happen!" she hissed.

"Come on, Jess, this is important. You can take the clothes off as soon as we get inside the room…" I knew that was the wrong thing to say as soon as I said it. "You can CHANGE when we get to the room…"

"No. You're going to have to prove to me that this is really on the up and up, Doug, that we're doing this for a good reason."

"And how do you expect me to do that?"

Jessica smiled. I suddenly hated that smile.

"You have to admit, Doug, it worked."

I glared at her as I walked into the room, dressed in black leather pants, a set of black leather straps over my chest and around my arms, a thick leather collar and a hood with zipper-closures for the mouth and eyes. Jessica had led me in, literally, chain-link leash in hand, my regular clothes in a shopper's bag in her other hand. I removed the straps on my arms with some difficulty and opened the zippers over my eyes. "You let me bump into those people on purpose."

"Don't be ridiculous. Is it my fault you can't walk straight?"

"And the whole, 'move it slave, or you'll get the whip'??"

"Just playing along, Doug. That was the point of this exercise, wasn't it?"

I ignored her smug expression and grabbed the bag with my clothes angrily. "You don't have issues, Jess, you've got _subscriptions_." I went into the bathroom and got out of the leather quickly. After putting my regular clothes on, I went to the hiding place I'd set up.

Years ago, while I was dealing with MORRIGAN Control, I set up some emergency caches while dealing with worst-case scenarios. One of them was dealing with staying flush in case I needed to move across town in a hurry and needed cash. So I set up some pre-paid credit cards, the kind you buy and then dump money on to use later, and hid them in places where it would be unlikely that they'd be found. The one in this apartment was one of them. The trick, of course, is to hide them where it would be unlikely that someone would find them while performing repairs.

I went into the bathtub and grasped the metal soap-dish built into the wall. It took a little elbow grease, but I slid it out and looked under it, showing a plastic bag around cards that had been taped together. An ID card, a credit card…and a paper-thin layer of flammable material, just in case someone found it and tried to drain my emergency funds. Separate the cards without running water over them first, and the cards would be rendered useless.

Of course, if the paper bag had been worked open and water had leaked in, and my clever idea would've been a lost cause. Hey, they can't all be gems. And in this case, it had worked. Rule #8 in Hostile Situations: if it's stupid and works, it isn't stupid.

I came out of the bathroom, seeing Jessica sitting on the bed looking at me funny. "What is it?" I inquired.

"Well, I heard all that grunting and moving around, and I thought you were getting some use out of your new clothes, so I thought I'd give you some privacy…" She tried to keep her face casual, but I saw the edges of the mouth twitching as she tried not to laugh.

"OH HA HA HA HA. I am peeing myself, you are so hilarious…" I growled. "Are you finished yet, or are you going to embarrass me a little more?"

"Well, I was thinking of embarrassing you a little more, but I'd rather wait until after you told me why we're here." She was smiling. Goddamn her.

I held up the cards. "I hid these here back when I was dealing with MORRIGAN. One of them is a credit card with a few hundred thousand dollars dumped on it. The other is a coded ID card that'll get us to where our ride is."

"So…where are we going? Latveria? The mountains? Deep at some forest cabin? Death Valley?" she asked, apparently resigning herself to her uncertain fate.

Just for putting me through the past two hours, I considered torturing her at least a little. But I decided against it. "I was thinking more along the lines of…Martinique."

Her head snapped up so fast, I thought she'd get whiplash. "The Bahamas???"

"Yep. So let's go get our ride. You can buy a swimsuit after we get there."

It watched them from its hiding place in the murk of the storm drain. It knew enough about where it was to know that it did not wish to be found. It also knew that what it sought was one it had contact with before, but kept moving away from it.

It had to be hunted.

The one it sought left the structure nearby. It was growing weaker. It pulled together that what made it what it was, concentrating it and throwing it at the one it needed to survive.

The essence flew through the air and landed on the clothing of its quarry. It shifted its coloration to make itself harder to notice. It needed time to recover its strength and its ability to grow.

And when that was done…it would bond with its new host.

TO BE CONTINUED…


End file.
